


Those Fabulous Padalecki Boys

by amproof



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Jared is a journalist, Jensen is a detective, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder Mystery, Rob is a librarian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:38:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 56,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amproof/pseuds/amproof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brothers Jared, Jensen, and Misha Padalecki are trying to move on after their father’s death, but it’s difficult. After three years in an open relationship, Jared's boyfriend Rob Benedict wants to go exclusive, but Jared isn't sure he's ready. Jensen is a suspended cop, and Misha, the supposed best-adjusted of the three, is paying strangers to hurt him. When journalist Jared's co-worker, Sterling K. Brown, goes missing, Jared and Jensen team up to find him. Cue brotherly bonding and the discovery that Dad had secrets too… secrets that involve payola and mob boss Mark Pellegrino. It all ties back to Sterling and his knowledge of Misha's guilt-ridden past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Fabulous Padalecki Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Artist: lj user fiercelynormal  
> Pairing: Jared Padalecki/Rob Benedict  
> Side Pairings: Jared Padalecki/OMCs, Jared Padalecki/Tahmoh Penikett, Misha Collins/Rachel Miner, Loretta Devine/Alona Tal  
> Rating: NC-17 for sexytimes  
> Word Count: 57,000  
> Beta: lj user sbb23  
> Warnings: infidelity, some non-graphic violence  
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to imply anything about the real lives of these people.  
> Author Notes: This is my first spn_j2_bigbang. I want to thank the artist fiercelynormal. I really enjoyed our interactions and your art is perfect! Thank you to the mods for your hard work and everything you do to encourage us! Big thanks to my beta lj user sbb23 and lj user hellsbrat for your encouragement.  
>  **[Art Masterpost](http://fiercelynormal.livejournal.com/64898.html)**

Those Fabulous Padalecki Boys

** Prologue **

The scrap of paper grew moist from his turning it over and over. The nine inked digits written on it smudged black onto his fingers. A pint of beer sat in front of him, untouched. "Eight o'clock," the voice on the phone had said. It was twenty past. He angled his stool to watch the door and crushed the paper into his palm.

"Get you anything else?" The barkeep asked on his wipe-down. He lifted the glass to run a sodden white tea towel beneath it. 

"No." The yellow liquid shimmered as it was set down. 

"Not thirsty?" 

A red-haired goddess slipped onto the stool beside him. Her legs disappeared into a green dress that shimmered in the poor lighting. A few stools down, a long-haired man in a flannel shirt and motorcycle boots gave her a look, lingering on her ankles before he turned away. 

He'd never been in this bar, never heard of the graffiti-strewn shithole (and that was a complimentary description). As far as he could tell from his waiting, there were two types of people in the bar: those there on purpose, who knew just how to find it down the winding side street and could pass over the brighter lights of the bars on the main road, drawn to the promise of cheap beer and bar snacks, and those who had wandered in almost by accident and remained, all the while maintaining an expression of extreme puzzlement as they sat in the high-backed wooden booths with half-finished drinks clutched in their confused hands. 

And here was an enigma in a thousand dollar dress which marked her as one of the lost and an assured demeanor that matched the ease of any of the regulars. 

"I'm waiting for someone," he said. 

"I'm sure whoever it is, is a very lucky person." She pulled his glass to herself and broke her sentence with sips. She touched his leg. "Been waiting long?" 

"No." He hoped she had not felt his leg tense when she touched it. 

She smiled. "Don't worry, cutie. No one would stand you up." She stood, trailing a finger over his shoulders as she moved away, still holding his glass. "If you get tired of waiting, I'll be over there. All by my lonesome." 

The dress sparkled as it swished around her legs. He smoothed down what was left of his hair—if Mark Pellegrino were going to turn up, he'd have done it by now. Pellegrino wasn't known for being late, which meant he'd figured out what was going on, so better for all that he not show. He shoved the paper into his pocket and followed. Noticing him, the woman smiled and gestured him to sit. She put his glass in front of him. He drew it towards himself, closing his fingers over the image that hers had made in the condensation. When she spoke, she leaned towards him, touching his hand. A tingle rose up his arm. 

"You aren't drinking your beer." 

"Is it bothering you?" He wanted, least of anything in the world, to do something that would send her away.

"I like it when men drink. It's a stamina thing, I suppose. Do you have good stamina, would you say?"

He'd get laid out of this; the night wouldn't be a complete bust. He drained his glass, slammed it down. "Good enough for you?"

"Yeah." Her response was more a purr than a word. She moved around the table towards him and put her hand on his thigh. "I don't think your friend is coming. Do you want to go somewhere with me?" 

Reality caught up with him before he could say "yes." Instead, he said, "I'm a reporter." 

She looked amused. "Reporters don't pick up girls in bars?" 

"Look, if you're…" He paused, having never learned the correct way to be tactful on this ground, and unwilling to say that he meant he'd never found a way to work the gym into his schedule and his forehead got higher every year and he was not the sort who attracted a woman as beautiful as her, unless that woman charged by the hour, and that, somehow, all that had gotten rolled into the word 'reporter'. "I don't make much money." 

Her expression hardened. Message received. 

"I'm just looking for intelligent conversation. Thought you might be the guy. If I'm wrong…" She pulled her hand back and started to move away. He circled his fingers around her wrist. 

"Your place or mine?" He stopped breathing for a moment. Who did he think he was, using a line like that on a woman like this?

"My car's outside." 

They stood—she was up first. It took him a moment to realize what was happening. He hadn't scared her off. He helped her into her coat. His legs felt like jelly. As they exited the bar, the streetlights glared into incoherent blobs. She touched his elbow and guided him towards a black SUV. A driver emerged and opened the back door. He tripped getting in and almost fell onto the seat. The woman followed. When the door was closed, she entwined their fingers and kissed him. He was forgetting something. He tried to put his arm around her and pull her close, but his arm would not move. He blinked at her. 

"Don't worry, Jared. Just let it happen. Float away." 

He tried to tell her she had his name wrong, but she kissed him, prodding his mouth open with her tongue, tasting of wine, although the bar hadn't served it, and he floated, useless, elsewhere. 

He woke in a strange bed in what looked like a cheap hotel room. He looked for the girl and found, instead, a man sitting in a chair beside his head reading a newspaper—the competition. _Mark Pellegrino_. He pushed himself up on his elbows, and Pellegrino laid down the newspaper. 

"You are not Jared Padalecki. Steal a contact, did you? No code of conduct in journalism, is there?"

His vision blurred when he lifted his head. His tongue felt like cotton. He let his head drop, the closest thing to a nod he could offer. Pellegrino gripped his chin and raised it up so he looked into pure, blue eyes. 

"The... the woman. If you've done anything...." Heroism was hardly a trait he could claim, especially not when the thought of moving more than an inch filled him with nausea, but he gave himself a good grade for the attempt before Pellegrino's grip again sent him toppling onto the pillow.

"The _woman_ was expecting to meet Jared. Instead, she met you. Naughty boy." 

"People want to know the real you. This is your chance to tell the world," he wanted to say, except it came out a garbled rush of nothing. A line of drool dropped from his lips. His tongue emerged, sluggishly, to catch it. Pellegrino rearranged the blankets over him, tucking him in as snugly as if he were the man's own child. 

"We're going to have fun with you. Sterling." 

He shook, trying to rattle his brain to stay awake and fight off the terror of Pellegrino knowing his name. His heavy eyelids pulled him down, and his consciousness, too. He lost his battle and slept, feeling a vague, stupid superiority beneath the fear. Padalecki had never gone through anything like this for _his_ Pulitzer.

** Chapter One **

When Rob groans, Jared isn't sure if it's because Rob's about to come from Jared's blow job or because the kitchen timer is going off. Early evening sex is the best, made even better tonight by the fact Rob had initiated it. He'd all but dragged Jared into the bedroom by his necktie the moment Jared walked in the front door. Jared emerges from beneath the sheet and grins as Rob, looking amused and annoyed with his brown hair tufted up from Jared running his hands through it earlier, pushes him under again.

Jared sticks a hand out, flat, and Rob rewards him with a palm of lube. Rob's almost never bossy like this, not with this wanton neediness, so Jared savors it while he has the chance. The sheet falls away as he sits up, rubbing his hands to warm the lubricant. Rob grabs himself by the backs of his knees and pulls his legs up. "Wonder if the people who come into the library imagine you like this." Jared slides up his body and kisses him. "I bet they do." Rob nips his lower lip in response and offers a smile that's part plea, part aphrodisiac, which blends into a fresh blush beneath his ten o’clock shadow. 

Jared brushes a finger across Rob's hole."Last chance to save the salmon." 

He gasps as Rob grabs him by the tie—he'd lost the shirt to the floor, but somehow the tie had stayed on—loops it around his fist, and pulls Jared down to his face. "If you don't fuck me right now, I will never cook for you again." 

"Well. Put it that way." Smiling, Jared pats Rob on the cheek, soothing. "It's O.K. babe. I'll get you there." Jared would never leave him hanging. "Baby, come on," Jared says. "You have to let go." Looking as if he doesn't believe him, Rob releases him. Jared slides down between his legs. Rob is already wet and relaxed from the rimming Jared gave him earlier, and now Jared presses his slick fingers inside to stretch him. Rob rocks his hips to meet him to his last knuckle. "Ready for me?"

"Yes. Want." Rob grabs the tie again, but instead of using it to tug Jared, he holds it loosely. Pulling his fingers from Rob, Jared moves backwards and gets himself in line. He pushes his cock into Rob's waiting hole. Sighing along with Rob, Jared kisses him and they lie chest to chest for a moment. Jared moves slowly for the first few strokes. His weight is enough to keep Rob's body at the best angle, and Rob lets his knees drop. He rests his calves on Jared's shoulders. Jared snaps his hips once, twice, three times as Rob utters small, wordless noises. Consonants without vowels. Jared leans into Rob's hand as Rob caresses Jared's hair, almost purring. Jared moves again. Slow, easy. When the hand becomes a fist, when the noises become moans, he curls towards Rob's mouth, and, as he reaches it, switches his center of balance so he can pull Rob towards him, tugging, devouring lips, teeth, tongue, throat. Rob rises towards him, meeting each thrust with matching hunger. His heels dig into Jared's back. 

"Baby. Yes."

Jared fists Rob's cock, which lost some of its heaviness when Jared entered him but regained it since. Rob's orgasm hits Jared's chest, and Jared follows a moment later, as his face twists into an expression he can't replicate in any other situation. Uttering a single syllable that holds all his energy within it, Jared collapses into Rob's arms. Rob's heartbeat pounds as out of control as Jared’s. He concentrates on breathing, on enjoying the moment as Rob sweeps sweaty hands over his too-long hair, no longer grabbing and needy. He shifts, and his cock slips out of its temporary home. They could lie like this for hours. Skip dinner, skip the work he's behind on.

"Unghf. Off." Rob laughs as he slaps Jared on his naked sides. "God, you're heavy."

"Sorry." Jared shifts off. Rob swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up. "Stay in bed." Jared tries to tug him down again. His hand slips off Rob's damp skin.

"If I don't get into the kitchen, it'll be the smoke alarm next." 

"Mrs. Harper," Jared says, thinking of their neighbor upstairs who bangs on the door over any noise infraction, yelling at them even before they open it. He shoves Rob away. "Hurry up." 

The marks of their lovemaking are already fading into pink on Rob's body. Walking into the bathroom, Jared pulls the condom off and knots it before tossing it into the trash. When he looks in the mirror, he finds the start of a love bite over his collarbone. Rob gave him one the first time they spent the night together. He hadn't known what he was doing, hadn't known how sensitive Jared's skin was. Touching the purple-blue misshapen circle, Jared smiles, thinking of this. 

After pulling his nice jeans and Polo shirt on—tonight's a special occasion, even if he'd tried to choose sex over dinner—Jared finds Rob in the kitchen, wearing an apron with Rosie the Riveter declaring "We Can Do It" on the front, and nothing else. Peering at the smoldering fish in the baking pan, which he'd removed from the oven, Rob says, "I think I can save this." He pokes it with a fork.

"Are you sure? I don't mind pizza," Jared says.

"Well, if we order pizza, I'll get dressed. If we don't, I won't." 

Jared takes the pan away and gives the fish his own once-over. "If we put enough mashed potatoes on it, I'll eat anything." 

Rob grins and Jared presses against his back, pushing him into the countertop. "Remember the first time we made love? Right here. Sick of waiting for you to quit being nervous. Never waited six months for anyone in my life. Knew if I waited to get you in the bedroom it'd be another year." 

"I am truly a lucky man." Rob's face hasn't lost its light as he turns around and spreads one hand around Jared's neck and drops the other between Jared's legs to massage him over his jeans. Jared closes his eyes and gives himself over to Rob's touch. As he considers what to do about it, if he should take Rob standing up or lying down, Rob squeezes him, hard, and he opens his eyes to see Rob looking all too pleased with himself. 

"Not funny." Jared's insulted cock retreats, leaving Jared to remember that half the time it's the one with the common sense. 

"It was slow at the library today, so I got you those articles you wanted. Why don't you go read through them and see if they can help?" 

Jared snuggles against Rob's neck. "Only if my reading turns you on." 

Rob offers a light kiss on Jared's cheek. "Knowing you're making use of my hard work turns me on. So, get on it while I fix the vegetables." 

"Pervert, that's what you are." 

"I am simply a man in love."

Jared finds the photocopies under Rob's laptop case on the dining room table. He asked Rob to pull all of Sterling K. Brown's writing from his previous job at _Thom City Press_. He's been missing for five days. Normally Jared's police detective brother Jensen would help him with information on active cases, but with Jensen on suspension from duty, Jared's line to honest and detailed information at the Upton Central Police Department is cut off. What information he gets now is terse, one-sided, and rarely usable. He suspects he did the wrong thing sleeping with the commissioner's son. When the young man said he was fine with a fast fuck and "So long," Jared had been too sexed up to recognize the lie of a sex-fogged youth. So, he decided to take up the mystery of Sterling's disappearance himself, partly because it's bad form for any news source other than the _Upton Daily Times_ , where both he and Sterling work, to break the story, and partly because with his disappearance, Sterling has finally become interesting. 

Brown had started at the _Upton Daily Times_ three months before his disappearance and had not, to Jared's mind, done anything to distinguish himself up to that point. He showed a marked lack of interest in asking questions, and almost no curiosity in his surroundings on the few times Jared had been outside the building with him. Jared was always looking around, searching for news in the little details. Sterling watched his own hands as he ate, whereas Jared's sandwich made its way to his mouth guided by instinct. Since returning from London where he'd been _UDT_ 's international correspondent while Rob did research for his doctorate, Jared worked as head reporter on the Metropolitan & City beat. Sterling was on Arts, but he showed no interest in them. Jared had tested Sterling once, asking about a much-touted performance at the Upton Symphony Orchestra and received a slow blink in response. Maybe Sterling had just got sick of it all and walked away—there was no definite proof of foul play in his disappearance, only that he was not findable. 

He gleaned nothing about Sterling the person from the articles. Thom City wasn't much different from Upton—too much news needing reporting to give a writer much of a chance to put a picture of himself into his articles. There was no theme in the articles, either. After almost ten years in journalism, Jared has causes now and the wherewithal to turn down assignments. From what Jared can tell, Sterling wrote what he was assigned, so the fact that he'd done an article on a church fire and another on a quilt collection is no help. If Jared were to go missing, anyone could look at his articles and create a short list of people he'd pissed off. He doubts the Thom City Daughters of the American Revolution or the sisters of St. Catherine's Church have their knitting needles raised against Sterling. Jared shuffles the photocopies one last time in case something useful should fall out. Nothing does. 

"Hungry?" Rob asks, coming through with two plates. Jared indulges himself with a dose of petulant disappointment because Rob is wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. He must have gone back to the bedroom the opposite way. The kitchen opens at both ends, one exit leading to the dining and living rooms, the other to the utility room and then to the bedroom. 

"Thought you were going to be naked tonight." 

"I got cold. Your fish, sir." Rob sets the plate down with a chef's flourish. "Right back with the wine." 

"I'll get it. Why don't you bask in the anniversary glow for a bit?" Jared catches Rob's hand and stands. His hand slides over Rob's ring as they separate. He wears his own ring on a chain around his neck, a kind companion to his St. Francis de Sales medallion, the patron saint of journalists. He didn't know this until his grandmother gave it to him when he took a job in the mailroom at the Times. De Sales seems like a cagey bastard who sat around and literally waited for God to hit him with lightning before he acted, so Jared doesn't think much of him, but he wore the medallion because his grandmother was a suffragette and the first woman in her family to go to college. She taught him to stand up for what he believed in. That this advice came when he was ten years old and caught wearing his mother's evening gown and heels tottering in front of her bedroom mirror was not lost on him. If anything, it made him run headfirst and heedlessly forward. 

When he returns with two goblets and a fresh bottle of Pinot Noir, Rob has cleared the table enough so it looks cozy. A pair of candles flicker in the center. Kissing Rob on the head, Jared hands over the bottle and corkscrew. As Rob tends to it, Jared retrieves Rob's gift, which has been burning a hole in his bag due to his anxiety over it. He isn't the best gift-giver, and there's a good chance this one will fall flat. He props it up between Rob's plate and glass. 

"It's not much, but I thought, maybe…" 

He waits as Rob looks at him for a beat and then tears the envelope open. A pamphlet falls out with a picture of a Victorian home in the midst of trees and grass. 

"A simple bed and breakfast, a home away from home," Rob reads. "A vacation? Can this be true?" He looks up with something like cautious amazement on his face. 

Jared feels a blush creeping up his cheeks. "Is it so bad that I want to take you away?" His nerves embarrass him. For weeks he's debated between this and a terry cloth robe in red. 

"It's wonderful," Rob says, but his tone is too flat for delight. Jared takes the pamphlet and opens it. 

"They have a rescue farm there, too. We can have breakfast as we look out the window and watch the chickens who laid the eggs running around the yard." His hands tremble as he shows Rob the photo of the henhouse and the rooster sitting on top of it. "And no Internet access. No phone. No interruptions. Nothing to do but stare at each other and…" 

"And the chickens," Rob says. 

Jared turns the pamphlet over. "I think they have cows, too. I'm sure it said something about… cows." Rob's mouth is still set into a thin line. Jared puts the pamphlet down. "I'm sorry. It was a stupid… I was going to get you a robe." 

"You remember our last vacation?" 

"This will be different." 

"You won't be fucking the bellboy?" 

"It's run by a fifty-five year old woman. Retired police secretary. Jensen told me about it. She was at his station, and he knew her pretty well. He says she's a lesbian. Rumored to be. And there aren’t any bellboys. It's just her and another lady. So you've got nothing to worry about." He risks a grin. Rob's expression softens. 

"Just because we have an open relationship, it doesn't mean you should flaunt it." 

"It was a stupid thing to do." 

Rob stabs his salmon. The fork rams through and clangs the china plate. 

"I'm sorry." Jared reaches out and sighs in relief when Rob allows himself to be caught and pulled forward. "It will be different this time. I promise." He lays his forehead against Rob's. Rob turns his head, but doesn't break the connection. 

"Then thank you. I would love to spend a weekend in the country with you." 

Jared pulls away, rushing with relief, but keeps one hand on Rob's shoulder. He raises his glass. Rob does the same. 

"Happy third anniversary, darling."

** Chapter Two **

Jared showers in silence in the master bedroom's adjoining bathroom. The rectangular window above his head looks out onto the asphalt field behind the apartment complex. In good weather, resident children's shrieks and the crack of softballs against bats waft up to drown out his singing and give him an excuse to practice his torch song belting. All quiet this morning, and he resists the urge to give "Rose's Turn" a try. Last night had gone well, considering all the scenarios he'd imagined in which Rob had thrown his gift back in his face. A little confrontation and an apology, that was easy sailing.

He dresses in the bedroom, not bothering to put much effort into keeping quiet even though Rob is sprawled on the bed fast asleep. In the mornings, Rob was down for the count. Prior to seven thirty, a bear could maul him and he wouldn't bat an eyelash. Jared's shirt is a little tight when he buttons it, but he has no fat to speak of and can pull it off. Out of respect for Rob, he forces away the thought that someone else could pull it off too. Literally. He eats a bagel on the train as he balances the city's other newspaper on his leg and fills out the crossword. He used to hide the fact that he favored this crossword over his paper's, something to do with loyalty, but now he folds the paper as he carries it into his building and holds it so it's obvious. He drops the finished ones on the editor's desk and receives a harangued glare from Jim sitting there. 

"Padalecki, get that shit off my desk." 

"Just making a point, boss." 

"And that is?" 

"The only part of our fine publication that is complete shit is the crossword." 

Beaver pulls the offending paper towards him, dragging it across the desk like a cat pulling a scrambling mouse. "Thank you for your insight. I shall take it under advisement."  
"Thank you." Jared walks on, listening for the sound of his paper going into the bin. It comes a second later, and he smiles. Patty, a copy intern, notices and smiles nervously back.  
"Good morning, Patty." 

"Morning, sir." 

"I'm not an editor, Patty. 'Jared' is fine. We're not formal. As I believe I've told you before." 

Her smile grows wider. "You mean like Mr. Beaver is always telling you not to call him 'Boss'?" 

He feigns surprise. "You've noticed?" Jim had shouted it at him in moments of frustration as the rest of floor went silent in cowed reaction. Then a phone would ring and all returned to normal. 

His assistant, Genevieve, has left a stack of folders on his desk about the foster care system in Upton. He got a tip about kids being transferred around and it could be his next big story. There are letters, too. He opens them and glances through. Hate mail, every last one. He shoves them into the designated drawer at the bottom of the desk. It's also the candy drawer and secretly he thinks of it as the good-evil drawer. He pulls out a cherry lollipop. When he closes it, Genevieve stands beside him, looking pleasant and professional. 

"Morning," she says. 

"Morning." 

"There's a rumor going around that Mark Pellegrino is acting up again." 

"Acting up" is a quaint phrase for Pellegrino. He had been a petty criminal, barely a blip on the radar until a few years previously, when he was connected to a blackmailing plot against a state senator. The senator had faced such threats before, but Mark played it right, got a payoff that lasted a year before the senator cracked, confessed, and resigned. Mark did no time. His men took the fall and were each serving six to ten upstate. Since then, Mark has portrayed himself as a businessman on the up and up. But no one thought he was a peon anymore. 

"You think I should set this foster care story aside and look into it?" Jared asks.

"I know you were thinking about it. I found a contact number for you, but I'm not sure where I put it." 

Pausing in the middle of unwrapping his lollipop, he peers at her. She winces. "That's not like you." 

"I know. It was just around when Sterling disappeared. I guess I forgot where I put it in all the chaos." The police had been in the office for days, combing through Sterling's desk and hovering over everyone else's. They'd blended into the usual chaos fairly well, slotting their form of organization into the reporters' and editors'. Jared had been disappointed that Jensen wasn't with them; that was the younger brother side of himself being excited that Jensen would get to see where he worked and that he would get to see Jensen in action as well, but Jensen was home looking at beaches on the internet, probably, using the suspension as an excuse to finally take a vacation. When he spoke to him last, Jensen had mentioned Cancun. He could afford it, even on a cop's salary, thanks to their father leaving them each a sum of money and shares in his construction business. The business itself, the running of it, had gone to their brother Misha. Misha lives in Anchorville, near their parents' former home, and though he’d never expressed any interest in construction that Jared could recall, neither had Jared or Jensen, so he suspects that proximity won Misha the acquisition. 

"I'm sure you can get the number again." 

"I know," Genevieve says. "I'm just annoyed at myself for losing it in the first place." 

"If you knew how often I lose things…." 

"I do know. I'm the one who has to find them, remember?" 

"Oh. Yeah. Come on. Let's look over your desk again. Maybe a new pair of eyes will help." As he heads for Genevieve's desk, he knows it won't do any good. Hers is the only organized desk on the floor. He stares at it for a moment and then looks at her. She stands back, arms crossed. A smug smile plays on her lips. "I don't suppose you have a file for scraps?" he asks.

"File drawer on the left. Third hanging folder." 

He glances at the drawer, but doesn't bother opening it. "Right. Well. I think I've done all I can." 

"Thanks for the help." Her tone is desert dry.

"Any time." 

On his way back to his desk, Jared passes Brock Kelly, Sterling's assistant. With Sterling acting the part of Schroedinger's cat, Jared isn't sure what Brock's role is now. Sterling is alive and dead at the same time until the box is opened and the fate determined. Brock has taken over Sterling's stories. This is his own initiative. Briefly, Jared entertained the thought that Kelly was involved in Sterling's disappearance so he could get his foot in deeper at the paper, but he dismissed it when he saw the stories Brock was doing—no Pulitzer contenders in the bunch—and the way he drowned himself in coffee… though that's no different than the rest of them, on any occasion. 

"Did Genevieve lose something?" Brock asks. 

Jared pauses. "You hear a rumor?" 

"Looked like you were looking for something." 

Jared nods. Brock has what it takes. Curiosity. Inquisitiveness. And this is another reason to doubt his involvement in Sterling's disappearance. Given another year, the Boss would have realized that Brock has it over Sterling and promoted him anyway, based on his work. 

"We lost a phone number." 

"When?" 

"Oh, sometime in the past week." 

"Since Sterling…" Brock trails off.

"Yeah. Genevieve thinks it was misplaced in the chaos." 

Brock looks at him, hard, as if he's deciding if he should speak. 

"What? Brock, if you know something…" 

"I'm sure it's nothing, but I saw Sterling standing close to Genevieve's desk the day before he disappeared." 

"A lot of people stand near Genevieve's desk." Jared says. 

"Not when she isn't there." 

"Did he take anything from it?" 

"I don't know. I wasn't watching him the whole time." 

"So he might have." 

"He might have." 

"Did he tell you about making any appointments, setting up any interviews?" 

"No. But he doesn't, usually. He just goes, you know?" 

"O.K. Thanks for telling me." 

"Do you think it's anything?" 

"I don't know." Jared walks off, disconcerted over the way Brock sits up, pen in hand. Yes, he'll be a perfect reporter. 

As the day drags on, Jared can't shake the thought that Sterling was more conniving than he'd given him credit for, that his obtuseness was merely an act. He reminds himself, again, about going out with Sterling and how he had been compelled to fill in the silences with blather about himself, the weather, the job. He had fallen for the oldest trick in the book. He stops short of smacking himself on the forehead. 

So. Mark Pellegrino. Could be coincidence. Brock hadn't said he saw Sterling take anything off Genevieve's desk. Or, it could be that Sterling swiped the number and set up his own meet and gotten snatched for his trouble. Jared looks across the floor. As a senior editor, he'll draw attention if he talks to Brock again. At the least there'll be rumors Brock is getting promoted, and after last year's similar rumor debacle resulted in someone quitting, he'll pass on that. He dials Brock's desk phone instead. "Do you know if Sterling went anywhere in particular in the evenings?" he asks when Brock answers. 

"Think he mentioned Torchie's once, but I'm pretty sure he wasn't serious." 

"How sure?" 

"I went around there and nobody knew him." 

"You go in waving your credentials around?" 

"Yeah." 

Jared hangs up. He watches as Brock gives his phone a puzzled look and then hangs up, too. A tiny smile passes Jared's lips. Brock perhaps is not as smart as Jared has given him credit for. He calls Genevieve next. 

"I'm still looking for the number. They changed it again." 

"A business changing its number? Well, that sounds on the up and up." 

"Sure does." She is brisk; she has work to do and chats only the required amount for politeness' sake. 

"I need a favor, darling." 

"What does Sir require?" 

"I need to go to Torchie's. Can you make a call?" 

"No problem. I'll have you on the list by the end of the day." 

"You're the best." 

"I know. If I happen to connect with Pellegrino, do you want me to set something up?" 

"Yeah, go ahead." 

"All right." 

He finds a photo of Sterling on the network drive of his computer. It's from a staff picnic and he's in shorts and a t-shirt. A few clicks of the mouse through the editing program and he's got Sterling smiling at him from a picnic table. He pops photo paper into the printer and runs it off. Once it dries enough to handle, he cuts it down to fit in his wallet. He won't be going to Torchie's as a reporter; he knows this for sure. Genevieve calls about the same time he finishes. She got him on the list. Jared thanks her. He has a change of clothes in the staff coat closet for emergency dress up situations, and he changes in the empty sport editor's office. He stuffs his day clothes into a bag and heads for the parking garage to pick up his car. The car was much, much nicer than the apartment building's neighborhood. Living in 'the hood', as Jensen calls it, suits Jared fine. Rent is cheap and the apartments are large, but there's no way his beloved Corvette will ever grace the neighborhood's streets for any length of time.

"I'll call you if Pellegrino's people get in touch," Genevieve shouts over the din in the newsroom as he leaves. He waves a thank you over his shoulder. 

At Torchie's, he pulls up to the front in his car, waits until the bouncer notices the flash wheels, and then tosses a valet the keys. He tells his name at the door. The bouncer scans his list and admits him. He has been to Torchie's before. Used to be something of a regular before he met Rob. He's been six times since, including once with Rob, who had hated it and asked to be taken someplace where he didn't have to shout. Jared has never seen Sterling there, but it's possible they went at different times. The place is huge, a gutted cavern of bars, dance floors, and enough private rooms on the balcony running along the perimeter to constitute a small city. This is not mentioning the sub-basement, which lives up to its name in every way possible. Collared men move up and down the stairs throughout the night. 

He works his way to the bar. It is in the center of the open space that serves as a dance floor with a gold rail circumnavigating it to keep the dancers and drinkers from tumbling over each other. There is a line, but he catches the bartender's attention easily enough with an outstretched twenty. 

"Where you been hiding?" the guy asks when he comes over. 

"Here and there. How are you, Billy?" Jared tucks the twenty away—a promise for later. "Give me a Pinot Noir, would you?" 

"I know, I know." Billy raises an arm to show that the bottle is already in his hand. He leans down and pulls a glass from beneath the bar. "Out of goblets," he says in apology. "Clumsy busboy." 

Jared smiles. "That a nice way of saying he was too busy sucking you off to do the dishes?" 

Billy blushes with grace. He pours a half measure of wine into the glass and pushes it towards him. The glass makes him feel more decadent than usual, like gulping instead of sipping. He sits with both hands around it as if it needs to be guarded. 

"You going to pay me or open a tab?" 

Jared lays the twenty down. "Just what this gets me." 

"That include tip?" 

"Might." 

"In that case, I'd suggest you drink a bit slower." 

Jared chuckles. 

"I was supposed meet someone here. His name's Sterling. Do you know him?" 

"Let me think. Oh, yeah. Sterling. What do you think? Do you know how many Sterlings there are in this place? That his real name?" 

"Yeah." 

"And you think he'd be using his real name in here, Harold?" 

Jared digs his wallet out of his pocket and flips it open to the picture. "Just tell me if you've seen him, all right?" 

"Who is he?" 

"My new man," Jared says, grinning. "Three months now." 

Billy glances at the photo. "I'd tap that." 

"Well, you can't. His ass is all mine." 

"Since when are you into tall guys?"

"Since I met Sterling."

"Rob get sick of you?" 

He thinks of a lie. It hurts him because it would hurt Rob, so he shakes his head and smiles. "You know me." 

Billy rolls his eyes. "Well, when you get sick of this one, let me know." 

"Still got your eyes on my ass?" 

"That skinny thing? Eyes on your wallet, more like." 

This gets an honest smile. He turns and scans the room, as if he is looking for Sterling. "He said he's been here before. I think he might have been lying, though. You know, so I'd think he was 'hip'. Which he really isn't. You're sure you haven't seen him?" 

"Let me see the picture again." 

Jared hands it back. Billy takes it this time and gives it a proper look. He returns it, shaking his head. "One shaved head looks like another to me." 

Billy's comment about the frequency of aliases has set Jared to wondering. "Is Bill your real name?" 

"Kid, I am the only person in this dive that doesn't need a nom de plume." 

Jared lets this sink in. The accuracy is precise. "Right. I'm off to find my man." He slides off the stool, leaving the glass and twenty behind. 

"Good luck," Billy calls after him. 

He crosses the dance floor, neither encouraging nor protesting the curious hands that draw across his groin and ass as he goes. He shows the picture a few times, having to shout in the person's ear to ask if they've seen the man in it. More than once, the person he's shouting to treats him to a rub and he finds himself thrusting into an open palm while continuing to speak as if he's not aware what his lower half is doing. Once he gets an answer, he moves on, knowing that the crowd will close in and the curious hand he's leaving will soon find another match. By the time he reaches the edge of the dance floor, his cock is straining against his jeans and he's ready to abandon the search in favor of the next person who grabs him. He scans the bodies. He's in the mood for someone small. 

He doesn't need a room. One of the dark corners will do fine. Five minutes with a submissive boy sucking him off and he'll be good to go. He ghosts his fingers over his crotch and does not try to resist the sigh that works its way up his throat. He spots someone—small, lithe, and dancing with his eyes closed and arms wrapped around himself. 

Jared starts towards him. He is two feet away when two things happen at once. First, the boy breaks out of his trance and locks eyes with him. He seems to dance for Jared, as if he knew all along that Jared was coming for him. Then another man steps into Jared's eye line and the boy puts his fists on his shoulders and kisses him. Jared stops, and allows himself two seconds of feeling foolish before turning to search for someone else. In the moment of his stopping, the second thing happens. He is brushed aside by a couple moving past. He stumbles forward, catches himself, and turns to see who has pushed him. The one who pushed him looks young, but it is hard to tell in the dark, and they are moving away at a steady, unhurried pace. 

The other man is six foot and something about the way he walks makes Jared think that beneath his loose clothing is a body that knows its way around a gym. There is something else, too, in the carriage of the man that strikes Jared as intimately familiar, and he wonders if he's slept with him in the past. Without truly knowing why, he follows them. He is nearly at the base of the steps when the other man nods to his companion, as somberly as if he's going to a funeral and not into a private room where he'll most likely get his brains fucked out. Jared freezes. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He presses against the wall, into the shadow. 

It's Misha. The taller man is Misha. He watches as his older brother leads a man up a short flight of stairs and into one of the private rooms. No wonder he looked familiar. He feels sick, thinking about his brother like that, in that sexual way. He forces himself to breathe deeply. As he does, another concern takes over, and he hurries after them. 

Misha is a family man. He has a wife, a child. Misha is the only one of the Padalecki boys who doesn't fuck anything that moves, within gender constraints, of course. Or, he was. Jared isn't certain of the proper tense anymore. He doesn't know why he should care—he's hardly in a position to lecture about keeping his dick in his pants, but Misha is… Misha is the moral center. He's the stable one. Jared wonders if it's possible for his life to be affected now if the rock of his childhood crumbles when he's looking at thirty-five in a few years. He feels like it is, feels sick in a different way from a moment ago, as if he has, in ten seconds, gone from one extreme end of the spectrum to the other. He has no plan, and part of him thinks he only wants to set his mind at ease because that cannot possibly be Misha. 

Misha would not do that to him. To them. Jared corrects himself. It's not about Jared, this thing, whatever it is. It's about Rachel and Jack, Misha's wife and child. He wouldn't… He reaches the door and pushes it. They have forgotten or neglected to lock it. He opens it just enough to look in. His brother's back is to him, so he can still deny it, except he lifts his shirt off and turns as he pulls it over his head, offering a profile of his face. Jared's stomach turns to stone. He is about to open the door more and…what? Yell 'stop'? Stand with his mouth open? Ask why the hell Misha isn't at home with Rachel and Jack? 

The other man moves behind Misha and quick as a flash cracks his open hand across Misha's shoulder. Open hand doesn't make bruises. Misha grunts and moves forward slightly. He rights himself and the man hits him again. Jared watches, frozen. He leans forward himself, almost unaware he's doing it, and pushes the door open a bit more with his forehead. The man goes on beating his brother, smacking him up and down his back. He's not holding back. Each blow comes full force. Jared wishes he could see Misha's face, but he has it turned away, towards the opposite wall where there is a picture of a round white vase and a yellow flower. The sound brings to mind being at home with Rob and writing in the kitchen while Rob beats two slabs of roast into submission with his fists. Someone touches his shoulder. He is pulled gently back and the stranger closes the door with a soft click. 

"You watching or looking to join in?" 

Jared turns to face his new friend and finds himself looking into a vast chest of black curls. It's not often he needs to tilt his gaze upwards to make eye contact. When he does, a handsome face greets him, and he doesn't know if he should focus on the amused mouth or the eyes that are busily checking him out and blazing with desire.

"Definitely not joining in." 

The man cocks his head towards a door. "Mind if I join you, then?" His hand is still on Jared's shoulder. "Or you could join me." 

The man is in every way the physical opposite of what Jared had stalked not three minutes before. He squeezes Jared's shoulder, pushing already, telling Jared who will be on his knees tonight. Jared glances down, not so subtly calculating how much he'll have to stretch his mouth to take him in. 

"Go ahead," the man says. His voice is a rumble that carries over the music from the dance floor. Jared puts his hand out and feels the man's cock through his trousers. He's not quite hard yet, but he's already too big for one hand to hold. He grunts as Jared tests the weight of his balls. 

"Unless you want to get fucked in the hall, I'd suggest you get your ass in that room." 

Jared nods. Already he is falling into his role for the evening. Part of him thinks of it as a welcome distraction from what he has just seen. The other part thinks that here is a larger man to fuck him, and that part is what makes him almost bounce through the door. 

As the man paws his shirt, he remembers why he came. "Actually, I'm waiting for a friend, if you're into threesomes." 

The man smiles with teeth. "Your friend as good looking as you?" 

Jared pulls the picture out. The man presses against him as he looks and Jared shifts to accommodate the new pressure, wishing he would hurry up and say no, he's never seen Sterling before and get to the part where he fucks him. Instead, he finds himself making up things about Sterling to catch the man's interest so he'll look more closely at the picture. "That heart shaped mouth can suck a cock like nothing else," Jared says. 

"He looks…" Jared waits, scarcely daring to breathe—good? Familiar? How will the statement end? "Like a guy I'd like to know." 

"What's your name?" Jared says. 

"Wolf," the man says with a mischievous smirk. He grabs Jared's ass. 

On the other side of the door where his brother is closed in, he hears a pained yell. Jared goes towards it automatically, but Wolf has him fenced in. Jared stops. Misha's a grown man. It's not Jared's business if comes here. It's not his place to burst in and demand an explanation. Feeling unsettled, he wants to get away from the door. 

"My name is Harold," Jared says. He breaks away from Wolf and moves further down the hall, into the room Wolf had indicated. He is forgetting something. As Wolf closes the door, he remembers. "It was my anniversary yesterday." 

"Don't worry, honey. I'm not looking for permanent." Wolf kisses him, swooping in for it like an eagle. Jared isn’t ready but he recovers the best he can and kisses back, opening his mouth to accept the tongue prodding his teeth. Wolf probably thinks Jared's cheating. He wonders, in between kisses, if he should explain about his and Rob's arrangement. He is pushed against the wall from the force of Wolf's kisses. Jared figures Wolf doesn't care about Jared's particular circumstances. The way he's acting, thinking Jared is stepping out probably turns him on. Before they part, Wolf has already undone Jared's trousers and pushed them open. Jared grabs the bottom of Wolf's shirt and pulls it away from his abdominals. 

"Bounce a quarter off," he thinks. "Thank you," he says. 

He pushes the shirt higher, rubbing a nipple with his thumb as he does. Wolf sighs and thrusts lightly against Jared’s leg, more so when Jared leans in and begins teasing the nipple with his teeth. He arches up, and Jared gives it more attention, but then Wolf grabs his arm and whips him around so he's flat to the wall. Wolf scrambles against Jared's belt buckle, gets it off and throws it away. Jared tries not to show his relief in his exhalation. For a moment, he'd worried that Wolf would strike him, perhaps having the wrong impression from his apparent voyeurism. He helps him work his trousers off. They pool around his ankles. He steps out and knocks them aside. Wolf's hand is on his stomach, pushing it in, holding him against his clothed pelvis. Jared tilts his head back, and Wolf bends down and sucks his neck. Jared starts to bump against him. He feels Wolf's fingers prodding him, and he adjusts his stance so his legs are further apart. With the hand on his stomach, Wolf edges him out a few steps more. 

"Stick that ass out." 

Jared obeys. He sticks his hands against the wall, even with the top of his head, which bends and touches it as well. He hears the familiar snap of a bottle opening and feels the fingers again, moist now, sliding in. Wolf's finger is large and blunt, like it was struck with a spatula during its formative years. It's rough, too, and Jared squirms as the calloused tip strokes inside him. "Fuck," he says, and Wolf takes it for the compliment that it is. 

"Just wait. I'll make you mean that." 

Something in Jared's brain switches off, thought processes abandoned to all but the focus on that promise. He grabs his cock and starts stroking himself. 

"Yeah, get yourself relaxed. You going to need it. " Wolf works a second, impossibly large, finger in beside the first. "I'll have you a quivering puddle by the time I'm done with you. You like that?" 

Jared nods, though it is not obvious because his head is still against the wall, hair flattened on the top of his head by it. His dick is hard. When he stops stroking, it slaps his stomach. Wolf is hitting his prostate and he can't hold back the moans. Wolf brings the hand down from Jared's stomach and takes over stroking his cock. 

"You like the idea of a big cock inside you?" 

Jared nods because he cannot speak. 

"Big cock treating you like the whore you are?" 

"Yes." He manages a word, perhaps by miracle, forced out between one moan and the next. 

"Thought so." 

Wolf removes his fingers, leaving Jared braced against the wall. He hears shuffling, the sound of a zip coming down. Then Wolf's hands are on his hips and the blunt cockhead pushes his asshole. He braces himself for the breach, but Wolf holds off until Jared is vibrating, ready to beg. Wolf speaks. 

"Back up." There it is, the command in his low rumble. 

For a second, Jared doesn't understand. Then the fingers tighten on his hips and he gets it. Slowly, he pushes himself backwards and begins the impalement. 

"I own you tonight." 

"Yes." He can't look back to see how far he's gone, how much further he has to go. His skin is stretched to breaking and still he cannot feel Wolf's body against him. He stops and breathes for a bit. "Hold on…" 

Wolf releases him and pulls out. His sudden absence makes Jared cold, as if freezing air has rushed inside him to replace Wolf's prick. "No, I didn't mean…" 

"Relax. I like to test my ride before I suit up. You'll still get that pussy pounded." The sound of a packet ripping follows and Wolf moving away. Jared turns and sees Wolf laying on his back on the queen sized bed, right in the center, rolling a condom onto his cock. 

"Get over here and sit on my dick." 

Jared does not need to be told twice. He quickly straddles Wolf and starts to sink down. 

"Open yourself up. Take that big dick into your pussy." 

Wolf's hands are behind his head, and Jared gets the impression that Wolf's contribution ended with the fingering. His cock isn't the biggest Jared's had inside him, but it is the biggest in a while, and he has to take his time sliding down its length. 

"Sit your ass down like the slut you are, or I will sit it down for you. You're taking too damn long." 

"You're fucking big." 

Wolf responds by moving swiftly to yank Jared's ankles forward. He loses his balance and Wolf catches him by the hips and pulls him down the remaining inches to the base of his cock. 

"Fuck," Jared says, drawing the word out until it is a moan. He tries to lift up, but Wolf holds him until he stops squirming and his body accepts the insult. He and Wolf lock eyes. 

"You never been fucked by anyone like me." It is not a question, but Jared shakes his head anyway. 

"Your pussy's going to be sore like you don't know because I don't give a shit about you. You like that don't you? You like being treated like a filthy cock-loving come slut, don’t you?" 

Jared thinks he might mean it, that they've passed from role-play into something real, but his cock is hard and so long as Wolf is talking he feels like a slut, and the more Wolf talks, the more he wants to grab the feeling, cradle it, and watch it grow. The cock inside him feels better now. He's relaxed enough, horny enough, that it's just on the wrong side of manageable. Just, he realizes, where Wolf wants him to be. 

"I'm O.K." 

Wolf's hands go behind his head again. "Make me come with your pretty little ass." 

Jared begins to fuck himself, sliding up, dropping down, and Wolf keeps up his filthy patter. "Fuck, you're tight. How are you so tight? I know a fucking slut. Always got a cock in that pussy." 

Jared wonders if Wolf really wants to be with a woman. Then Wolf grabs his cock and he doesn't care what Wolf wants because his hand feels fantastic. Wolf strokes him with his palm riding up the underside of his cock, fingers and thumb squeezing over the top. Wolf's words diminish into noises, harsh and rough, and he begins raising his hips to pound into Jared. Jared comes onto Wolf's hands, and immediately he is pulled down by the arm as Wolf shoves his fingers into Jared's mouth. 

Jared licks him clean, fingers and palm, as Wolf tells him what a good boy he is. Then he grips Jared's elbows and stills him. Wolf's cock pistons into him, hard and bruising, and Jared lets his head fall forward as all the sensations in his body flood to the place where he is connected to the babbling man. He can feel Wolf come inside him, even with the condom on, his cock pulsing and large. They roll apart, Jared to the side of the bed, gasping and sore. Wolf is dressing before Jared has his eyes fully opened. He rubs them with curled fingers and reaches between his legs with the sheet to wipe himself clean. He looks over to see Wolf, clothed and watching him. He drags himself up, the game of debauchment over. He measures a small smile at the other man, and is met with bold concentration. 

"You know, I think I may have seen that friend of yours. Let me see the picture again." 

Jared digs his wallet out of his pants, extracts the picture, and hands it over. He puts the pants on. 

"Yes. Definitely. You are lucky to be getting a piece of ass like that." 

The irony of it is that though Jared is posing as Sterling's boyfriend, it seems that he is the only person not attracted to him, if the reaction to the picture is anything to go by. Sterling is not his type at all. He wonders if Sterling has any idea what kind of play he could get here—but if he was here, then he must know. 

"When did you see him?" 

"A month or so. It matter?" 

"You talk to him?" 

"Now, why do you care? Jealous type?" 

"He's my friend, isn't he? If you made a bad impression on him, I won't suggest we get together." 

"I make a bad impression on you?" 

"Not at all." 

"Not him, neither. Made no impression at all. He only had eyes for one thing that night, anyway." 

"Sex?" 

"The door. He went racing out of here like his ass was on fire." 

"Any idea why?" 

"You think I spent any time thinking about it?" 

"You remember this much. Speculate." 

"You telling me what to do now?" 

"No. I didn't mean…" Jared shrinks back, away from the threat in Wolf's tone. Wolf rolls his eyes.

"He took a call. And hot-footed it out of here. Good enough for you?" 

"If it's all you've got." 

"I gave you all I've got already. If you want more of it, get back up here." 

Jared considers. He has his shirt in hand. Wolf strokes himself over his trousers. He looks right at Jared, and Jared knows that if he doesn't look away, he'll be on his knees again. Wolf flashes his teeth. He knows it, too. "Why don't you get over here and suck me." No questions with him. Only statements with the word order of questions that turn out to be commands. Jared drops the shirt. He has one knee on the bed when the phone beeps. He stops and turns back. 

"I'm sorry. It could be my boyfriend." 

Wolf sighs. He flops onto his back. Jared calls into his voicemail and learns the call came in around the time he and Wolf started, but it was not until this moment of silence that he registered that his phone had been beeping all this time. 

The message is from Genevieve. She's contacted Pellegrino's people, and someone is going to meet him at the club. She doesn't know what the person will look like, if it is a man or a woman, but he shouldn't worry. They know you, she says. And they'll ask you how you spend your summers. You're supposed to say 'fishing'. When he hangs up, his gut is twisting again. It's excitement and fear. He knows too well he's on the cusp of being in over his head, but it's also like being a spy and he feels special and secretive and like he needs a codename. Harold won't do for a spy. Jasper, perhaps… 

"Get your mouth over here, Harold." 

Jared snaps his head up. "I'm sorry, I… that was work. I have to go." He pulls his shirt on. He is picking up his shoes when Wolf grabs him. His heart flutters again—he can't remember when he's gone through so many emotions as tonight—and he attempts to yank out of Wolf's grip before he can force him to his knees because his desire to suck Wolf's cock is gone, as is his need to submit, replaced by his need to get out and meet Pellegrino's rep. But Wolf is holding tight to his wrist, pulling him close. 

"I don't want…" but Wolf's mouth closes over his, swallowing his words, and he caresses Jared's back and sides. The kiss is surprisingly gentle. It is thank you and goodbye. They separate simultaneously. Jared does up his shirt as Wolf watches, his face unreadable. The kiss has spoken for them. A glance around the floor tells Jared that he hasn't forgotten anything. He opens the door, considers turning for a last look, but he hears skin slapping skin and knows that already Wolf has moved on. He leaves the door standing open, in case anyone walking by wants to take over for him. 

He moves past the room where Misha was. Its door is open, too. The room is empty. As he passes, another couple moves into it and the door closes. He heads to the top of the stairs and looks out. He has no idea what he is looking for. From above, nothing looks out of the ordinary, which is to say everything is out of the ordinary. He feels hot. The sex has left him dehydrated. He is about to move to the bar to take care of it when he sees a woman coming up the stairs. She comes and leans over the banister next to him. 

"You look well-fucked," she says, shouting into his ear. 

He can feel himself turning as red as her hair. "Thank you." He shouts back. 

"I usually only go to clubs in the summer. This cold weather moshing is new to me." 

He nods. He is trying to think of a way to tell her that he's meeting a cohort of an underground criminal who she probably doesn't want to know she exists. He studies the crowd, thinking she'll get the hint if he doesn't talk to her. 

"Are you all right? You look a little…" She touches Jared’s forehead, her expression transformed into one of concern. "I think you need some water. Here." She presses a glass into his hand. 

He drinks it in one go. He looks at her when he hands the glass back and realizes she is pretty. Straight men, certain gay men, not him, would call her gorgeous. Perhaps if her hair was down or a deeper shade of red or her dress was a different material… She smiles at him, presses too close. He thinks of the girls in college who managed their sexual frustration by draping themselves over him, their harmless gay friend. He inches away and is relieved when she doesn't close the gap. 

"How do you spend your summers?" she says. 

He's supposed to say something. He blinks at her, realizing. It comes to him through a fog. "Fishing," he says, finally. She smiles, bright and flirtatious. "You look like shit. Come on." 

As they go down the stairs, he notices her legs. Black boots go from foot to thigh. Her dress sways, revealing teasing bits of pale skin. He stares, entranced. Not by her, but by the slivers of white. The dress settles when she reaches the last step. She pulls him across the dance floor. This time the hands reaching out to touch him are rough. He almost falls onto her, but she looks back, smiles, and encourages him forward. They are almost to the bar when two hands fall on his shoulders and, unlike the questing others, do not let go. Jared is jerked to a stop and, by extension, so is the woman. 

"You can go. I’ll take him from here." The voice sounds like it has run over gravel a few times. Jared turns around and smiles at Jensen. 

His brother does not look happy to see him. 

"Who are you supposed to be?" the woman says. She is still holding Jared’s hand. 

"His fucking white knight." Jensen reaches down and frees Jared from her grasp. Then, with his arm under Jared’s shoulders, he guides him along the side of the crowd, toward the door. It is the first time in history they’ve all been in a gay club together, him and Jensen and Misha. Jensen doesn't seem like he'd be interested in knowing this.

"How’d you know I was here?" he says as Jensen opens the door and shoves him into the street. 

"Genevieve called me. Thought she'd done the wrong thing, telling them where you were, but you were so set on talking to them, she thought you'd want her to. Good job she figured that doing what you want is about the furthest thing from what she should be doing." 

"I'd have been fine." 

"Right. Car's this way." 

"No. Valet's got it." Jared plants his feet against Jensen's efforts to drag him into the street by the elbow.

"And he'll keep it tonight. We're taking mine, if you don't mind your fancy clothes touching my tweed seats. Hope it's not too rough for your sensitive rear." 

"I can drive myself." 

"All right. Go on." Jensen lets him go and Jared is on his knees. He pitches forward, catching himself before he collapses completely. His head swims. He knows something is wrong, that it started inside, but he can't figure it out. Jensen's hand is on his shoulder, pulling him upright. 

"I think I'm dehydrated. I need a drink. I can't…think straight." 

"That's because you had a drink, not because you need one. What did she give you?" 

"Water." 

"It taste funny?" 

"Tasted fine." He lets Jensen pull him up. "You didn't have to come." 

"Had to walk out on someone to come get your ass, so don't act all petulant on me. What were you thinking? With all the clubbing you do, you don't know not to take drinks from strangers?"

"She was a girl."

"Girls are a world of trouble, buddy. Good thing I came along when I did."

Somehow, Jared ends up with his arm around Jensen's shoulders and Jensen's arm around his waist. 

"My hero." His head falls against Jensen's shoulder.

"Damn right." 

"Could have sent Rob." They start towards the car. He can't feel the ground. He isn't sure if he is walking or being carried.

"Yeah? Your librarian got super fighting skills hidden in that stick-thin frame of his?" 

"He's all right." 

"This is only me, but I wouldn't want to invite my girlfriend out where I was cheating on her." Jensen opens the passenger door and drops Jared in. He shoves him around as Jared does an impression of a sack of flour and pulls the seatbelt across him. He wakes up enough to push Jensen off him and do the buckle himself.

"Wasn't there for it. I went to find out about Sterling. I got a lead he was there." 

"Yeah, Genevieve filled me in. Any luck?" Jensen closes the door before Jared can answer. He watches as Jensen crosses to the other side of the car and gets in. "Well?" Jensen says as he turns the car on. 

"Met a guy who saw him take a call and race out." 

"What guy was that? I ought to talk to him." 

"I don't think you should…" 

"You fuck him?" They are on the road now, heading, Jared assumes, back to his place. 

Jared looks out the window. His mind is growing thicker by the second. He knows it's not a good idea for Jensen to meet Wolf, but he can't think why. 

"He fucked you." 

"It's not cheating." 

"Different for queers, is it?" 

"If you want. And I don't have a girlfriend, either." He responds to Jensen's earlier implication, his brain finally registering it. 

"I know you don’t." 

"I’m a homosmexual," he slurs. 

"Yeah." 

"I’m a faggot." Jensen had been so angry when he found out. Hateful. Jared might go that far. He shifts in his seat so Jensen cannot see him chewing his lip. The others in his family, if they'd been upset he might not have cared so much. But Jensen—Jensen hurt him the most.

"Jared." 

"It’s what you said. You called me that." His voice is surprisingly steady, considering.

"Well, you didn’t have to tell me like you did. You took me by surprise." 

"Didn’t have to call me that." 

"Jared, I am two seconds away from punching you right now." 

"Homophone." 

"To get you to shut up, not because I think you’re a—" 

"You do, though. And you hate Rob because he’s my lover." 

"Jared." 

"We switch. Sometimes he fucks me. Sometimes I fuck him." Jared whirls around, as rapidly as he can, given that his mind is rolling through sludge and the fact that the seatbelt is wrapped too tightly around him. He wants to see his boyhood hero's reaction to that. Oh yes, he threw it out there. He mentioned boyfriend and fucking and himself, all in the same sentence.

"Jared. That’s the drug talking. You don’t want say any of this. I sure as hell don’t want to hear it. Jesus. My fucking little brother." 

"Rob’s dick is longer than mine." Jared grins as he watches Jensen squirm. He had left the room when Jared came out. Left the fucking room.

"I will pull the car over and put you in the trunk. Do you want to ride the rest of the way in there?" 

"No." He folds his arms and sinks down the seat. Jensen is all smiles now, smug bastard.

"Then shut up. Not a word until we’re there. Got it?" 

Jared glances at Jensen and then glares out the window. A smile sneaks out. "Yes." See who's smug now. 

The car lurches when it stops. Jared watches as Jensen gets out and storms around the front. The passenger door is yanked open and Jensen reaches in and unhooks Jared’s seatbelt. He only has time to blink and stumble, dragged along by the strong hand on his elbow, before he is tumbled into the trunk. Jensen arranges a blanket over his legs and pushes him back down when he tries to sit up. 

"Watch your head," Jensen says. The lid closes on him. A tiny part of his brain thinks that in the morning he’ll find it funny, but now it is only cold and dark and lonely. He tries very hard to think what he’s done and comes up with nothing. The conversation is already drifting away. He only knows that Jensen has always been more clever than him, and that must have something to do with why he is where he is. The fog in his mind pulls him down, but before it takes him completely, the car stops. 

Jared is barely aware of Jensen hauling him out of the trunk and into the elevator. The operator knows the floor without being told, and in silence they ride upward. Jensen pats him down and finds his keys. He sticks it into the lock as Rob, who must have heard them coming, turns it from the other side. There is a moment of confusion and Jared giggles. He leans against Jensen. His brother has one foot set backwards to brace himself. Jared snuggles against his shoulder. 

"Jensen came and got me," he tells Rob when the door is finally open. 

"I see that." Rob nods at Jensen. It looks like there will be a passing off of the Jared—which makes him laugh again—and Jensen will go. Jared blinks lazily and waits. Rob reaches out. Jared feels Jensen's shoulder rise, as if he is shrugging Jared off. Once Rob has him by the wrist, Jared stumbles forward. 

"You smell good." He lands with his nose in Rob's neck. 

"Thanks for bringing him home," Rob says. 

"Yeah." Jensen is still outside the door. Jared can feel how tense Rob is in the tendons straining in his neck that he's trying to kiss. Rob puts an elbow up to stop him. 

"Well, I'm going to put him to bed, so…" 

"His car's still at the club." 

"O.K. Thanks again." 

A moment passes, during which Jared either falls asleep or the silence around him is real. He wants to tell them to get along, for his sake, because he loves both of them, but his tongue is too heavy for words like that. Then the door closes and he and Rob are alone. 

"You're an idiot," Rob says. 

"I know what happened to Sterling. He got drugged." 

"Like you?" 

"Yep. Take me; I'm yours." He flings his arms out, putting his full weight on Rob, who staggers backwards a step.

"Jesus. We should get you to a hospital." 

"Jensen said it's not bad. Ought to sleep it off." 

"Great." 

"Great." Jared smiles, pleased.

Rob grabs his shoulders and pushes him off. He holds him arm's length away. "Jared, you won't remember this, but I am immensely disappointed in you right now." 

"Kay." Jared nods, mainly because he thinks he should. Rob is incredibly funny like this, stern and in charge. It's not him at all.

"O.K," Rob says. "Time for bed."

** Chapter Three **

Jared's pounding head wakes him before he's ready to face the day. He lays on his back and flails an arm, reaching for Rob. The other side of the bed is empty. He forces his eyes open and keeps still, listening for the television or for pans clanging, but there's nothing. He tests the top of his mouth with his cotton tongue. He's parched. He rolls out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom. Walking is an effort. His ass feels plowed. He remembers that it was. He can't remember the guy's name. He drinks from the sink, making a cup of his hands. He turns to the toilet and realizes he is still dressed. He must have really fucked up if Rob threw him into bed like this. Getting home from Torchies is a blur. Someone brought him. He can remember pressing his forehead to a window, and whizzing past streetlamps, but not much else. He zips himself back up. Splashes water on his face until some semblance of consciousness returns. His head… He massages his temples. As he moves, his walk adapts on its own into a lope, moving like a cowboy for the sake of his sore ass.

The sun is high and shining through the living room window. It peers down on Rob, who is sitting on the couch with his feet up and a book in his lap. He doesn't look up when Jared clunks his way over to him. Jared stands beside the couch, trying to judge from Rob's closed face just how pissed off he is. He's reading a treatise on the Dewey Decimal System. Jared can't tell if he is actually enrapt or only pretending to be so he'll go away. With Rob, the former is just as likely as the latter. Jared clears his throat. 

"What?" Rob doesn't look up. 

"I…I'm sorry." 

"For what?" 

"I…" He realizes that he does not have the first clue why he's sorry. 

"Do you remember what happened last night?" 

"No?" 

Rob sets his reading down and regards him calmly. "Last night, I told you that I was upset with you and that you wouldn't remember in the morning. I see I was right." 

"I'm sorry." 

Rob half-nods and turns his focus back to the essay. "Go make breakfast." 

"O.K." 

Jared lurches towards the kitchen. He feels a different kind of sick now. Rob is terrible when he's angry, closed off and more silent than usual. Jared never knew if the grudges would last days or minutes. He turns the coffee on and sits down at the table to wait for it to percolate. 

It comes back to him in bits as he sits with his coffee, the warmth seeping through the mug into his palms. The man's name. The woman. Someone dragging him out. The reasons for it. Pellegrino. The picture of Sterling. His attempt at playing undercover reporter. Not too bad. Got some information out of it, made a connection. He isn't sure if it will lead to anything, but if Wolf had seen Sterling race out on the night he disappeared, that could be something. That could be everything. 

Rob comes in and goes to the coffee. 

"I remembered. I'm sorry," Jared says. 

"You let someone drug you." Rob is remarkably good at keeping accusation out of his tone, but Jared hunches over his mug anyway.

"I wouldn't say I let her…" 

"Who knows what would have happened if Jensen hadn't been there." 

Jensen. Right. Shit. He wouldn't hear the end of it now. 

"Well, good thing he was." Jared isn't sure if he means it.

Why had Jensen been there? Genevieve. Right. This kept getting better. Here he was, a decade away from early middle age, and all around him people were still treating him like he couldn't watch out for himself. Curse of the youngest, and his own fault that he accepted it too readily. 

Rob sits down opposite him. "Promise me you won't drink anything from strangers again." He puts his hand over Jared's.

"I promise." 

Rob retracts his hand and sighs. "Christ on a crutch, Jared, I shouldn't have to be giving my boyfriend advice like that." 

"She was a regular looking woman. I was thirsty." 

"Were you expecting someone in a t-shirt that said 'I carry my own Rohypnol'? Next time, get your own drink." 

"O.K." 

"I suppose I don't need to ask what you were doing there?" 

"I was looking for Sterling." 

"What?" 

"I got a tip that he went there sometimes and so I posed as his new boyfriend and told people I was supposed to meet him there." 

"That's clever, for you." 

"Thank you." 

"And what did you tell people who know about us?" 

"We've broken up. I only told Billy." 

"Why?" 

"Why what?" 

"Why did we break up?" 

"Uh…I don't remember." 

"I hope it had something to do with your incessant hogging of the covers." 

"I'm sure it did." Sometimes Rob's understanding nature throws Jared. He takes a second to recover.

"And that it was all completely your fault." 

"Absolutely." 

"Good. So, did you find anyone who knew him?" 

"Yes. One guy saw him running out like he was going to meet someone. It could have been the day he went missing." 

"Well. That's a start." 

"I know. I also found out that it's very likely that Sterling jumped in on my lead about Mark Pellegrino. I've been trying to set up a meeting between the two of us for months. Genevieve finally found a connection and…" 

"And you think Sterling took it." 

"I do. And I think Mark took him." 

"Jared—does Mark know what you look like?" 

"It wouldn't be too hard to find out. I'm sure my picture's on the website somewhere.  
What are you—" 

"Do you think Sterling set up the meeting pretending to be you?" 

"Why would he do that?" 

"If he was smart, and let's assume he is, he'd have figured that you or Genevieve had already been in contact, or that Mark knew you were trying to get into contact. So, he calls up, pretends to be you, and…" 

"And gets caught. Mark gets upset, and…" 

"But what if he's not upset?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"What if kidnapping you was the plan all along. What if he thinks he has you right now?" 

"Oh. Do you think he would… But why? I only wanted to talk to him, not incriminate him on anything." 

"I don't know." 

"But he must know that he's got the wrong person by now, which means—" 

"Either Sterling is dead, or Pellegrino has another reason for keeping him." 

"Yeah. I think we should call Jensen." 

"He's coming over for dinner tonight." 

"He is?" 

"You forgot." 

"I…may have." 

"Sibling dinner. Happens once a month." 

"I know." 

"We're hosting." 

"Oh. Great. Well, we can all talk about it at dinner." 

"It will be a nice change from the glares of death Jensen likes to shoot me." 

"He doesn't." 

"He hates me." 

"It's only because you're corrupting his little brother. Don't take it personally." 

"I kind of do. Anyway, you're the one who corrupts me." 

"Yeah. He kind of gave me an earful about that last night." 

"Wow. That's a new kind of low when Jensen starts lecturing." 

"You don't have to tell me." 

"I don't want to know." 

"It's nothing…out of the ordinary." 

"Jared, we're doing O.K. right now. Let's just focus on the next thing. I don't want to hear about who fucked you last night." 

Jared plucked his ring from around his neck and held it up. "Any time you want me to put this ring on, just let me know. I told you before, once it goes on, I'm yours. Completely. I won't even look at another man. Well?" 

"I'm not going to force you to commit." 

"You know, Rob, part of you doesn't want me to put this ring on my finger. You can say all you want that it's because you don't want to tell me what to do, but it's you. You're scared of it. I know you. I make my career out of reading people, and you, my darling, shout through your silence." 

"It's a miracle you still have a job because you couldn't be more wrong. It's your decision. Just keep in mind that I'm not going to wait for you forever." 

"You have me. What part of that do you not get? I'm yours. Every other man is just a body to me. They don't mean anything. You mean everything. You don't have to wait. I'm here." 

"I know." 

"You do." 

"I do." 

"Do you need help getting ready for tonight?" 

"I could give you a list for groceries." 

"You won't come with me?" 

"I suppose I could." 

"It's no fun shopping alone." 

"Plus, I could stop you from fucking the produce boy." 

"That only happened once." 

"Excuse me?" 

"I'm kidding. It's a joke." It had been the butcher's assistant. 

"Jared…" 

"Let me change my clothes and we'll go." 

"All right. We should pick up your car, too." 

"Where is it?" 

"I would assume it's at Torchie’s. Do you still have the valet ticket?" 

"I don't know." 

"Check your jacket." 

"O.K. Found it." 

"Let's go."

#

Rob puts a cutting board down and hands Jared a knife. "Start chopping."

"What are we having?" 

"I thought we'd do Mediterranean. It won't take long, but we don't have much time. So chop." 

"I'm chopping." 

Rob pulls out pans and sets them on the stove, then bustles around doing cookery things Jared has never picked up on. To his eye, Rob is making more noise than anything else. Eventually, Rob collapses onto a chair, looking worn out and pleased with himself. It is probably, Jared thinks, the same expression he has on his own face after a good fuck. 

He decides to test out the theory. "Come here." He undoes Rob's pants from behind and tugs them down.

"Jared, they'll be here in twenty minutes." 

It is a weak protest, and Jared ignores it. He sinks to his knees, and noses up into the pale cheeks hovering above him, pushing them apart so he can get his tongue in. Rob shudders. His feet move apart. Jared smiles, pushing and tasting. He presses a finger in, standing as he does and lining his body against Rob's. He puts his hand on Rob's stomach and pulls him tight against him. Rob's neck is stretched backwards so the top of his head rests on Jared's shoulder. He turns and nips his clavicle. Another finger. Not long with this one. He removes his fingers, lines his cock up. Hands on Rob's hips. 

"Back up." 

"What?" 

"Come on." 

Nothing happens. Jared tugs Rob's hips to get him to move. 

"Where'd you learn that?" 

"Just do it." 

Rob, in the limited space, manages to drop to his knees and squirm away from the counter. 

"You don't bring it home, Jared. Just don't." 

"You…always liked it when I brought it home."

"Well I don't anymore."

"I'm…I'm sorry. How was I supposed to know that?" 

"Yeah." Rob sits against the cabinet. His legs are straight out, splayed open. "God. Jared… I don't know what to say to you." 

Jared crawls over to him, puts his head in Rob's lap and begins to suck. After a moment, Rob's hand settles in his hair and strokes him. A few minutes more and he is thrusting into Jared's mouth. Jared swallows when Rob comes and sits up, wiping his mouth. Rob grabs him, pulls him down for a kiss. 

"I only swallow for you," Jared says. Rob gets up. He heads for his bedroom, and Jared sits, holding his stomach, as it dawns on him that perhaps he has said something he shouldn't. 

"Five minutes," Rob says. 

"You never minded me trying stuff out on you before." 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Where's my jacket?" 

"Same place it always is. And change your pants." 

"I know." 

Jared gets up and finds his suit. The tie is draped over the jacket's hanger. His mother had insisted that the family dress for dinner in the old fashioned sense, and, for some reason, a drunken bout of nostalgia most likely, the sibling dinners continued the tradition. Nothing less than a coat and tie would do. Pressed shirts, pleated pants. Misha had once turned up in a tuxedo. Jensen favored Italian suits; Jared was better off in the English cut. Rob looked like a librarian no matter what he wore, so he stuck with the American as it was cheaper, and he was a budget-conscious kind of guy. 

 

Misha and Rachel arrive first. Jared opens the door and is hit at the knees by little Jack. Misha pulls him back and gives Jared a hug. 

"Hey, Buddy." 

"Come in, come in." Jared kisses Rachel as she enters. She smiles and hands him a sack. 

"Pinot Noir. I hope it's all right." 

"Has been every other time," Misha says, and she slaps the back of his head. He turns and grins at her. 

"Rob's in the kitchen stirring something." 

"Fuck!" Rob's voice filters through. Jack looks up, startled, and Jared tries not to laugh. 

"I'll just go give him a hand," Jared says. 

Misha pulls him back. "Let me. I'd like a meal I can actually eat, if you don't mind." 

"My home is your home." 

Jensen arrives with a young woman on his arm. She is wearing fishnet stockings and a pink mini-skirt. "This is my date, Sonia," Jensen says, leveling his gaze at Jared, as if daring him to say something. The girl pops her lips, as if smacking gum.

"Hey," she says.

Rob steps forward, smiling. "May I take your coats?" 

They come in and hand their jackets over. Jensen grabs Jared and puts something in his hand. "Toss that, will you?"

Jared looks down. It is a piece of chewing gum wrapped in a scrap of paper. It is still warm. He glances at Sonia. "What, did you make her spit it out in the hall?"

Jensen just smiles.

Jared sighs. "What do you want to drink?"

"Red, please."

"Coming right up."

In the kitchen, he throws the gum away and uncorks the bottle Misha and Rachel brought. "How's dinner coming?"

"It's under control," Misha says.

Jared nods. "Misha..." He stops and looks up. Misha smiles at him and continues stirring the vegetables.

"What?"

"It smells good."

"Thank you."

Jared turns back to the wine glasses. What was he going to say? 'I saw you with a man at a nightclub?' Where would he even start? 

"It's Rob, you know," Misha says.

"What?"

"His spices. That's what makes the difference." Misha grins, and Jared immediately feels guilty. Misha is the purest person he knows, always giving credit where it was due, always wanting the best for everyone. Except, perhaps, himself.

"Oh. Yeah. Of course."

Misha's smile is so honest, that Jared almost cannot look at him. He wants badly to ask why he is sneaking around and hurting himself, but the time is wrong. They won't be alone much longer.

"Jared, if something's bothering you, you can tell me, you know." 

Now Misha is really looking at him, so Jared shakes his head. "Not a thing."

Misha seems about to say something more, but he backs off. "Well. You know where to find me if you need to talk about something."

Jared nods. He starts out with the wine glasses. "Misha, why would you think something was wrong?"

Misha has turned back to the stove and looks over his shoulder to answer. "You've never said vegetables look good in your life."

"Kind of ironic for a vegetarian."

"That's what I thought. And you're not a real vegetarian. You eat fish."

"I'm thinking of editing that out."

Misha nods towards the door. "Tell them ten more minutes."

"Will do."

"They've got Radiohead," Sonia says. She holds up a CD. 

"No," Jensen and Jared say together. 

"That's more after-dinner music," Rachel tells her. "Why don't you see if you can find some Chet Baker or something?" 

"Who?" 

"Oh dear. Excuse me." She slides past Jared and Jensen, giving Jensen a look that is a clear comment on her opinion of this one, and goes to help the girl. 

Jared tugs Jensen into the kitchen. 

"So, who's the twelve year old?" Misha says. 

"She's twenty-three." 

"She call you 'dad' in the sack?" 

Jensen looks up. Jared recognizes the change in his expression, unnoticeable except to those who know what to look for, and gets out of the way. In that same second, Jensen steps forward and plants his fist in Misha's stomach. Misha keels forward, catching Jensen's shoulder. 

"Sorry," he says. "I'm sure she's a lovely girl." 

"She's the love of my next several hours," Jensen says, shrugging him off. 

"I've no doubt." Misha coughs until his breath returns. 

"Leave him alone, Jensen. Do you remember the girl he brought over last year?" 

"The one with the collar?" Rob asks. "I thought she was nice." 

"Very nice," Jared says. "Had the table manners of a feral cat." 

"What about the one with the school uniform kink?" 

"That was her uniform. Turned out she was a bit younger than I thought." 

"Did you…?" 

"Got nervous and asked her for ID before we got down to it. Unlike you, I can hold my head when I'm holding my dick." 

"Jesus," Jared laughs. "You sure this one is of age?" 

"Checked her wallet the moment I met her." 

"Finally, getting smart," Misha says. 

"Always been smart. Smarter than you." 

"Yeah? What about the girl who robbed you while you were passed out?" Jared, Rob, and Misha all laugh at this, as Jensen glares, no doubt deciding which of them to punch first. 

"You guys having fun without us?" Rachel asks as she comes in. 

"All at my expense." 

"Oh, poor Jensen. Can't catch a break, can you babe?" She slaps his cheek lightly. 

"Where's Jack?" Misha says. 

"Sonia is watching him. They're going through CDs together. Just fair warning, there's a good chance we'll be dining to the dulcet tones of *NSync." 

"Oh. Probably shouldn't leave him alone with her." 

"Why? They were getting along fine." 

"I'm sure. But she's not the brightest girl. Might accidentally drop something on his head." 

"We've had our fair share of that, lately," Rachel says. 

"Jackie pulling things down on himself, is he?" 

"No, Misha is. Every time I turn around he's got another bruise." 

"I seem to have developed a bad case of the clumsy," Misha says. 

"I know he dances with two left feet, but it's getting ridiculous. It's a new bruise every day." 

"Someone roughing you up at work?" Jensen says. 

"It's construction. Things happen. I keep it safe onsite. Nothing to worry about." 

"You could keep it a little safer. Anyone who saw you without your shirt on would think I was abusing you." 

"I would die before I would let that happen." Misha turns to her, startled and serious. His voice trembles. 

"Without your shirt, huh? Come on, let us see." Jensen plows into the sensitive moment, breaking it with his bulk and his ability to always be the center of attention. 

"What?" 

"Lift it up." 

"No." 

Jensen grabs him and whirls him around. Misha fights against it, but Jensen thrusts Misha chest-first against the wall, pulls an arm backwards and holds him by the wrist, pressing it into his back. 

"Jensen, let him go," Rachel says. Misha has gone limp. Jensen yanks Misha's shirt tails out of his pants and shoves the shirt and jacket up. His body is blocking the view, so Jared cannot see what Jensen does. Jensen takes his time looking, and Misha starts to struggle again. Jensen's a warning tug on the captured arm and a hand on the back of his neck stops him from twisting far. 

"Done yet?" Misha says. 

Jensen lets him go. Misha sets about putting himself back together. He turns to face three people waiting for a verdict. Jared looks at Rob, who has returned to the stove, his back to them, and amends it to two people. 

"Looks like construction site injuries to me. Probably tripped over a board or something." 

Misha nods. "Yes." He is slowly returning to his normal color, having gone pale. 

Jensen doesn't look at Rachel. "Well. I'm going to go check on my girl." 

"Tripped over a board is his favorite excuse," Rachel says as he passes, and he stops, frozen in motion. "Thirteen times this month, in fact. I had no idea they were so commonly left laying about on safe sites." 

"It's that boy Aldis. Never does what he's told," Misha says. 

Rachel nods. Her eyes are cold and rimmed in water. "Then you should fire him." 

"He's a good kid." 

"I don't care." 

"Dinner's ready," Rob says. Jared looks at him as he holds up the pan of bright and sizzling vegetables. When he turns again, the door is swinging, and Jensen is gone, having used the distraction to escape. 

"All of you, to the table, please," Rob says. They start to file out. "Take a dish, please." Rob gestures to the bowls of food on the counter. When each person takes one, two are left for Rob. At the table, everyone falls into their usual position. It is round, but Jensen sits at what he insists is the head because he is the eldest. His date sits to his left and Rachel to his right. Then Jack, Misha, a space for Rob, and Jared takes the chair beside Sonia. The food is steaming and the scent of garlic and spice wafts into their noses. Jensen leans forward, sniffing and using the serving spoon to poke a mound of mashed sweet potatoes. Rachel smacks his hand and he draws it back. Misha busies himself pouring Pinot Noir into each adult's glass. He hesitates when he reaches Sonia and looks at Jensen as if to ask if he is certain of her age. Jensen glares at him. Misha pours a half measure into her glass.

Rob comes, finally, with the last two plates and sets them down. 

"Since we're all here," Jared says, taking up his glass, "may I say that it is always a pleasure to spend an evening like this. To family."

They raise glasses and toast, clinking even Jack's juice cup. Once the toast is finished, they set upon the food. The table is small enough that passing is not always necessary—things are reached for without complaint, as the person caught between the reach leans back to get out of the way. Everyone is smiling, laughing. Jared notices a glint in Jensen's eye. He starts to speak because that can only mean trouble, but he opens his mouth a fraction too late.

"All right, we've humiliated me and clumsy ass here, so I think it's your turn, Buddy." 

Jack perks up and looks around to see who is speaking to him. 

"Uncle Jensen is talking to Uncle Jared," Misha says. 

"What have I done?" Jared says. 

"He managed to get drugged last night. By a girl, no less." 

"You didn't." 

"It seems that I did." 

"What were you doing?" 

"He was at Torchie's looking for his missing co-worker." 

"Sterling Brown?" Rachel says. "I've been reading about him." 

"Who?" Misha says. 

"We've talked about this, babe. Jared's co-worker went missing a few weeks ago." 

"I must have forgotten. Lot on my mind lately." 

"You might have known him, actually. He went to Mapletown College, too. I think you're about the same age," Jared says. 

"No, I don't think so. If he was in a different major, there's not much chance I'd have run into him." 

"No, I guess not," Jared says. "You haven't heard anything new, have you?" he says to Jensen. 

"Still on suspension, remember?" 

"I meant from Danneel." 

"Not a thing. Not her case, anyway. They busted her down to patrol while this gets sorted out." 

He slams his drink and looks like the last thing he wants to do is talk about it more. Jared knows a big sulk when he sees it. 

"What's new with you guys, aside from that?" Rachel says. 

"We're thinking about kids. Adoption." 

"Really? That's wonderful." 

We are?" Jared says. 

"He hasn't quite come around yet. Maybe you guys could leave Jack here." 

"I don't know, that might sway him the opposite way," Rachel says. 

"Don't you listen to her, angel," Misha pats Jack on the head, briefly distracting him from pushing his food around his plate.

"Huh?" 

"You have to commit for kids," Jensen says. 

"Yep," Jared says, keeping his voice as flat as he can. 

"Who's for seconds?" Rob gets up and reaches for the serving dish. "I'll be right back." 

"I'm fine," Misha says. 

"He wanted to get out of the room," Rachel says. 

"Oh." 

She turns to Jensen. "What did you do that for?" 

"Why are you yelling at me? It's his problem." Jensen points at Jared. 

"You know, for someone who can't keep a girlfriend longer than two days, you are certainly showing a disturbing interest in my relationship." 

"What do you mean, 'two days'? " Sonia says. 

They all look at her, as if they've forgotten she is there. 

"Well, it's the average for him," Rachel says. "That's not to say it will be for you, too, but, you know, odds are against you." 

"Is that true? Is it? Are we over after tonight?" 

Jensen opens and closes his mouth. 

"I see. Please tell Rob the dinner was great, and his company was exceptional. As for the rest of you…" She pushes back from the table and stands. "Good-bye." 

Rob returns at that moment. "Leaving so soon? There's pie. Do you want a slice for the road?" 

She seems to be considering as she pulls her coat on. "No, thank you. You have a lovely home." 

No one speaks for a moment, a collective holding of the breath. 

"What did she mean by Rob's company? He's been in the kitchen all night," Jared says. 

"Obviously my charm shone through." 

Jensen looks at his hands and seems to be waiting. The doorbell rings. Jared answers. Sonia brushes past him and goes to Jensen. She holds her hand out. "Cab fare." 

He pulls his wallet out and hands her a twenty. 

"And tip." 

"I know where you live, darling. That'll get you home twice over." 

"Fine." She stuffs the bill into her pocket and storms out the still-open door. When it closes this time, Jared cannot stop the laugh bubbling up. He lets it out and is roundly glared at. 

"Pie?" he says. 

"Yes, please," says Jack. 

Rob gets up again. "Back in a sec." 

"It's not pecan is it?" Misha whispers. 

"If it is, you'll eat it and like it," Jensen tells him, as he fixes a soldiering on expression on his own face. 

"Don't worry, it's apple," Rob says as he comes out with it. He sets it, steaming, in the center of the table. 

"I didn't mean for you to hear that." 

"Hear what?" Rob grins. He heads back to the kitchen and returns with dessert plates. Misha begins to cut the pie and place the slices onto the plates, which are passed around. Jensen, Rachel, and Rob polish their slices off, leaving not a crumb. Jack's is smashed into a paste, while Misha and Jared have more than half of theirs left. Jensen reaches over with his fork and finishes Jared's for him and then eyes Misha's. Misha pushes the plate towards him. Jensen looks at Rachel, silently offering. She shakes her head and pats her stomach. 

"You did good here, Rob," Jensen says.

"I'd agree, but I'm too stuffed to speak," Misha says.

"Are we going to have to roll you out of here, Daddy?" Jack says.

"I think so, son."

"Before we get to that—who's helping with the clean up?" Rob says.

"Not me," Jack shouts. 

Misha and Jared get up and pick up dishes to carry into the kitchen. Jensen leans back and looks ready to settle in and watch. "I'll manage from here," he says. 

"Get your butt in motion," Rachel says. She whacks him over the head with a tea towel. Jensen scrambles to his feet, rubbing his head. 

"It's getting easier and easier to believe she's the one kicking Misha's ass," he mutters as he passes Jared. Jared watches him and wonders if he should tell him about what he saw at Torchie's, but he passes too quickly into the kitchen. The table is cleared off quickly. On the final pass, when the others are in the kitchen starting to wash up, Jared grabs Jensen before he can go back in. 

"Jensen, I think Misha's lying." 

"I know he is." 

"When I asked if he knew Sterling—" 

"Those bruises aren't from falling—" 

"What?" 

"What?" 

"I think he knows Sterling." 

"All right. What do you want to do about it?" 

"I want to go to the college. Sterling used to write for the paper there. Maybe we can find something. Do you want to come along?" 

"Your car or mine?" 

"Mine." 

"Wrong. I'll pick you up at seven." 

"Are you going to be awake at seven?" 

"I'll pick you up at eight." 

Jensen and Misha and Rachel and Jack leave all at once, as is the habit on these evenings, as if they've discussed that it's the best thing to do so no one misses out on anything fun. As Jack kisses him and Jared hands him, heavy with sleep, to Misha, he has an urge to ask them all back in. Another drink, another slice of pie, another conversation. Because he knows once the door is closed, he'll have to talk to Rob. Then he feels guilty because that shouldn't be a chore, or something he dreads. But Rob has brought up adoption, and commitment, and it's two things he's not ready for. And they'll have to talk about it, and he's not ready for that, either. 

"Dishes aren't going to wash themselves," Rob says, and Jared pulls himself from the door to follow Rob into the kitchen. 

"I think Rachel's lost some weight," Rob says. He tosses Jared a towel, and Jared goes to stand next to him at the sink. 

"Do you think so?" 

"Yeah. You didn't notice?" 

Jared shrugs. "I guess. I don't know." 

"You should notice people more, Jared. They like being noticed." 

Jared thinks Rob is telling him something, but he's not sure how it connects to commitment or children. 

"I'll keep that in mind." He grins at Rob, testing, and gets a smile and dripping plate in return. 

Jared pours two glasses of wine once the dishes are done and the kitchen is sparkling. They retire to the living room, Jared with his laptop and Rob with his book. Jared sits with his socked feet in Rob's lap, and Rob absently rubs them as he reads. Jared stops himself twice from making idle conversation about what he's writing because it has to do with the foster care system and knowing Rob, he'd want to sign them up for it, and he stops himself from asking what Rob is reading because with his luck it would be some classic about infidelity. He can judge Rob's mood from the way he's rubbing his feet. When the squeeze is hard enough that it hurts in his bones, he gets up. 

"I'm going to bed. See you in there?" 

Rob nods as Jared kisses the top of his head. He goes into the bathroom, urinates, washes his face and teeth, and undresses. When he comes out into the bedroom, Rob is there, in bed with his face turned to the wall. Jared slides in beneath the sheets, naked. He touches Rob's back and gets nothing in response, not even a twitch. He reaches down and works his fingers between Rob's ass. He's not horny, but he doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to say. Even Rob's breathing broadcasts disapproval, but he's not pushing him away, so Jared takes this as a good sign. 

"Talk to me," Jared says. 

"Even Jensen thinks you've got commitment-phobia. Jensen. What does it say when your homophobic whore-mongering brother is telling you to settle down?" 

"Whore-mongering? Have you been reading Dickens again?" 

"We're doing an exhibition at the library. Don't change the subject." 

"Well, I don't know what you want me to say, so I'm sorry." 

"You're just sorry about everything lately, aren't you?" 

"I guess so. Look, I just wish you hadn't said that about adopting a kid. You should have talked to me about it first." 

Rob tenses, ready to retort, but stops and takes a breath. He nods. "It was out of line. I'm sorry. I set you up." 

"Yeah." Jared nods against Rob's back. "You did." 

"I was trying to change the subject off of your night of stupidity. I could have talked about something else, but you know that seeing Jack always brings it to mind." 

"I know. Maybe, you know… We'll talk about it." 

"When?" 

"I don't know. Just give me some time to let it sink in that you're serious, O.K.?" 

"O.K." Rob raises the chain around Jared's neck and fingers the ring. "You'll put this on when I ask?" 

"The very second. Do you want me to?" He fiddles with it, smiling, and hoping his fear isn't showing. 

"Just knowing's enough." 

Jared slides down behind him and nudges Rob's legs apart. Rob sighs as Jared sinks into him. He grabs Jared's hand and brings it to his chest. "I love you," Jared says. 

"I know." 

"Jensen and I are going to take a trip to Mapletown College tomorrow. Do you want to come?" 

"Looking for evidence to link Misha and Sterling?" 

"How'd you know?" 

"I saw his reaction, too. They know each other. My guess is they were lovers." 

"You think everyone is gay." 

"Don't you?" 

Jared smiles. "Most of the time. So, will you come? You could help me navigate the big, scary library." 

"Sadly, I have to work." 

"That is sad." 

"Darling?" 

"Yes?" 

"Do you stop for conversation in the middle of all your fucks or is it just with me?" 

"That's just one more way you're special, sweetheart." 

Rob groans. "Well, treat me like the rest for once and get on with it." 

"Yes, sir."

** Chapter Four **

Jared tries to roll away from the finger poking his back, but it ignores his moaning and persists. He flings his arm backward in an attempt to ward it off.

"Hey, come on," Rob says. "Jensen's here. Get up."

"What?"

"He's in the kitchen. Move."

Jared is standing before consciousness returns to him. He stumbles after Rob into the kitchen, as if he needs to see for himself that Jensen actually is there. Jensen is facing the door, sitting at the kitchen table, and looks up when Jared and Rob walk in. He has a sandwich in one hand, the white paper it was wrapped in spread out in front of him.

"Morning Sleeping Beauty," he says.

"What the fuck are you eating? It smells foul," Jared says.

"Not much of a morning person, is he?" Jensen directs this at Rob, who has moved near to him and leans over his shoulder to peer at the sandwich.

"That will go straight to your arteries."

"Here's hoping." Jensen takes an over-sized bite.

"I could make you some oatmeal."

"You could make me some," Jared says.

"You could make yourself dressed. I'm not waiting on you all day, princess," Jensen says. He looks at Rob. "No offense."

"You can call him whatever you want."

"Thank you."

Jared sniffs, identifying the smell. "You're not having eggs and bacon for breakfast." 

"And why not?" Jensen is already half through his biscuit brimming with the offensive foods. "Too late to say much about it now, isn't it?"

"I don't mind making you something," Rob says. 

"I'm not spending an hour and a half in the car with you and your gas," Jared says. 

Jensen tosses the sandwich down. "Suit yourself, but if I get cranky because my blood sugar gets low, I'm taking it out on you." 

"Great." Jared gathers up the sandwich and puts in the trashcan. 

"Now will you please get dressed so we can go?"

Jared nods. He glances at Rob to see if it's all right to leave him alone with Jensen, but Rob seems fine, so he goes for a shower. 

When he returns, Rob and Jensen are sitting across from each other, Rob reading the city section and Jensen on the international pages. He has a plate next to him now, but nothing left on it, so Jared cannot guess what Rob convinced him to eat.

"’Bout time," Jensen says. He gets up and shoulders his coat on. As he passes Rob, he looks down. "Thanks for feeding me." 

"Anytime," Rob says.

"We'll be back sometime this evening," Jared says, to cover his confusion and touch of jealousy over this display of camaraderie. Rob gets up and kisses him. He turns to Jensen, who, evidently thinking he'll get the same, takes a step back and puts his hands up. 

"Just going to tell you to take good care of him," Rob says.

"Oh. Goes without saying."

Then, Jensen chucks Rob on the shoulder. Rob claps his hand over it and freezes, as if deciding whether or not he is in pain. He smiles. Jared talks himself down from jealousy. Rob cannot know that this is the closest Jensen gets to affection. Then he looks at the friendly smile on Rob's face and knows that he does. Jensen is out the door, having witnessed none of this. Jared spares a last look at Rob, who has rolled his eyes and smiled it all away, before running after his brother.

#

Jared looks at Jensen's car and sees a clunker. Jensen sees a classic. It is not the sort of car that any thief would want, especially not the ones trolling around this neighborhood on the lookout for bright paint and fast engines. To the point: Jensen's car was parked on the curb and when he returns to it, it is still exactly where he left it. Jared gets in the car. Jensen is driving over the speed limit before Jared can get his seatbelt on.

Jared leans back and looks out the window, watching the trees whiz by as the car snakes its way around the hills. He smiles. The only sounds are the whir of the motor, the smooth jazz from the radio, and Jensen's farts. Jared cracks the window as Jensen looks innocently at him. Then he smiles, tilts his hips and breaks wind right at him. 

"Real mature, Jensen." 

Jensen answers in action, rather than words. 

They don't get to the college soon enough for Jared's taste. Once out of the car, he beelines for the library, following the posted signs, with Jensen walking alongside. "Now remember, we're looking for newspaper articles, yearbooks, anything with a mention of Sterling or Misha." 

"Yes, Sherlock, I know." 

"Right. Good." He holds the door open and Jensen sweeps into the library ahead of him. He looks around as if he's casing the joint, as Jared marches up to the desk. 

"Hi, I'm Jared Padalecki. I called ahead about looking at your archived student papers." Jared flashes his press badge and a smile. Beside him, Jensen huffs and rocks on his heels, his hands stuffed in his pockets. The librarian glances at the badge and nods.

"I'll be right back. We have a student librarian who can help you gentlemen." She trots off. Jensen finally stops frowning.

"Should I have let you do that?" Jared says.

"They took my badge when I got suspended. So, couldn't have anyway."

"Oh. Sorry."

Another huff.

"Bothering you, isn't it?"

"It's possible that having free time is not as wondrous as I'd anticipated during my hours on stakeout."

"More time with me, though."

"A truly unexpected bonus."

The librarian returns with a young man walking beside her. He comes forward, smiling, a chubby hand outstretched towards Jensen as if, on sizing them up, he has determined that Jensen is in charge. Jensen shakes his hand, his eyes shifting up and down the boy's body from his well-worn Converse sneakers to the braided rainbow-colored leather choker around his neck. Jared imagines what he's thinking. The kid all but broadcasts that he's a fairy. Then he speaks, and his voice is a sibilant endorsement of the set opinion. 

"So, you guys want to look at old papers? Come on." He moves off rapidly. Jared and Jensen follow. "Don't know why you'd want to, though. We've got the worst college paper in the country. I can say that because I'm the copy editor. That part is good."

"Did he say his name?" Jared whispers.

"Hey kid, you got a name?" Jensen gives the boy's shoulder a jab. The boy turns, looks hurt, and says, "Darren."

"I'm Jensen. This is Jared. You two should get on fine."

"Why's that?" Darren turns and looks at Jared suspiciously, and Jared realizes that the kid is in the closet. He gets him, then; this kid is experimenting with letting himself out in the privacy and safety of his college and now two strangers come in, take one look at him and throw him into a group. He almost feels bad for the kid's stupidity. Then what Jensen has said sinks into him. He doesn't consider himself obvious, sexuality wise.

"Yeah, why's that?" Jared turns the question back to Jensen, who rolls his eyes.

"Because you're both literate types." Jared looks at the kid and sees his relief. "What? You think I'm going to say because you're both homos?" The kid tenses again and then looks over at Jared. Jared shrugs.

"He doesn't mean anything by it, Darren," he says. "He made a deal with the devil, his tact for a badge. He took the badge." 

"You're a cop? Really?" Darren looks at him with interest. Jensen puffs up a bit. 

"Detective. Off duty. Just keeping my brother company today." 

"You really didn't mean anything by calling me a homo?" 

"Not a thing. Even if it's blatantly and obviously accurate." 

Jared smacks his shoulder.

"I'm just saying..." Jensen says.

"Which has been his problem his whole life."

Jensen grins. "Yep." He claps his hand on Darren's shoulder. "Don't worry about me, kid. You go on and be who you want to be."

"It's not who I want to be, it's who I am."

"So you're in that phase, huh?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, Darren. It's just part of the process," Jared says. Jensen is rolling his eyes, no doubt remember how self-righteous he used to be about it, all the grandstanding and lectures he delivered when he was 'discovering himself'. 

"Being honest to myself?"

"Being a self-righteous prick," Jensen says.

"He's talking about me," Jared says.

"Oh."

"Yep. Sure am."

Darren leads them into a back room. It is filled with rows of shelves from floor to ceiling. Each shelf is lined with boxes. "This is the archive. We have everything in here from 1856, when the college was founded up to our most recent issue. Newspapers, yearbooks, any thing school related. Where did you want to start?" 

"1983," Jared says. 

Darren nods. "O.K. That's over here." Jared starts to follow him. 

"Uh," Jensen says. 

Jared turns. Jensen is still in the doorway. "What?" 

"I'm going to go talk to people around campus." 

"That your unsubtle way of saying you don't want to do research?" 

"In a word, yes. Kid, which way to the dean's office?" 

"Take a left when you exit the building and follow the path up to the President's house. There's a sign." 

"Thanks. I'll be back in an hour." 

"Actually, it might take two or three," Jared says. He gestures to the shelves. "We may end up looking at a few years." 

"Right. Then I'll find a few other people to talk to." 

"If you're looking to talk to people from the 80's, you should stop in at the chapel. Mrs. Brown's been here forever," Darren says. 

"And she is…?" 

"She washes up the pews. And plays the organ at services." 

"Right." Jensen goes. Jared turns his attention back to the shelves. 

"All right. Let's get started." He goes around the shelves with Darren, who knows his way perfectly and leads him straight to 1983. He stands on tiptoes to pull a box down. Jared can't help noticing how his belly flattens when he stretches his arms over his head. He quickly forces the idea of touching Darren's smooth stomach out of his mind and put his hands out to accept the box. 

"We can use the table over here." Darren goes down the aisle, Jared follows. He sets the box down and opens it. It is packed with newspapers. 

"What are you looking for?" 

Jared reaches in. "I'll know it when I see it." 

"Can I help?" 

"Look for any mention of Misha Padalecki or Sterling Brown, including bylines." 

"O.K." Darren sits down beside him, not across from him, Jared notes. He reaches over him to grab a paper. They don't talk. Pages turn and rustle, and one frustrated sigh piles upon the other. 

Darren walks the boxes back to the shelves as they finish each one. He returns with the fourth, dropping it in front of Jared and pauses, staring at him. Jared looks up. The kid seems nervous for some reason. Jared tries not to notice the slight tremble in his lip. 

"What it like?" Darren says. 

"What's what like?" 

"You know. Being with a guy." He slides back into the seat next to Jared.

"Haven't you ever?" 

"No." 

"Oh. Well it's…it's nice." He wonders if he should say something more about it. 

"Is it…does it hurt?" 

"There's lots of things to do. If you're nervous about the hurting, I mean." 

"Like oral?" 

"Yeah. Like that. Handjobs. Frottage." 

"What?" 

"Rubbing." 

"Oh." Darren looks over his shoulder at the door. "Your brother won't be back for awhile." 

"Probably not." 

"Would you…do you think we could…" Darren's hand jerks towards him and lands just short of his crotch. Jared doesn't move. He watches Darren's face for hesitation. The boy's jaw is set. Jared shifts under Darren's hand until it is directly over his cock. "You could show me things." 

"Go on," he says. The boy squeezes him. Jared lets his legs fall open. He splays himself on the chair. "I can show you things," he agrees. "If you want." 

"Yes." 

Jared raises Darren's chin up with his finger and draws him close until their lips are a breath apart. "The most important thing is the kiss. If you don't want to kiss a person, don't fuck them. That rule will keep you out of a hell of a lot of trouble. Trust me, I know. Do you want to kiss me?" 

Darren's nose brushes Jared's as he nods. Jared closes the gap between them. He parts Darren's lips with his own and begins a series of gentle nips until Darren has the idea. Jared puts his hand on Darren's shoulder, but is careful to keep their bodies separate otherwise. 

"Open your mouth a bit, like you're slightly surprised." 

Darren does, and Jared kisses him again, this time letting the tip of his tongue slip into Darren's mouth. He retracts it to see if Darren will follow with his own. He does. Darren moves his hand into Jared's hair. Jared does the same. He's getting hard. Darren notices, and rubs him harder. Jared lets his hand travel to Darren's stomach. He pushes the shirt up, glances down at the white, slightly chubby belly. Darren starts to pull his shirt down with an embarrassed smile, but Jared holds his hand where it is, keeping the shirt up. 

"You're fine," Jared says. "More than fine." He scoots back, letting Darren's hand fall away from between his legs. He bends down and kisses Darren's stomach. Darren clutches Jared's hair as he swirls his tongue against Darren's navel. 

"Scared?" 

"I don't—" 

"Don't be." He kisses Darren's neck. "Any time you want to stop, just say." 

"O.K." 

At Jared's urging, they stand up together and push their trousers down. After kicking them off, Jared lays down on the floor, pulling Darren with him.

He strokes Darren's thighs, running his thumb along the underside. Darren shudders. Jared prods him. 

"Face backwards and straddle my shoulders." 

Darren does, and Jared reaches up to take his cock into his mouth again. Darren is on hands and knees over him, putting his head even with Jared's cock. Jared sucks, waiting for Darren to get the hint. He does, finally, and Jared feels himself being taken into the hot mouth. He winces when Darren's teeth scrape him and again when Darren gets overzealous and gags, but he doesn't rush, concentrates on teaching through demonstration and soon the boy figures it out. Darren comes first, the eagerness of youth. Jared swallows because it is Darren's first time, remembering too late what he had told Rob the night before. He holds the cock in his mouth a moment longer, feeling it go limp. Darren is still sucking him, so Jared pulls himself up on his elbows and noses between Darren's cheeks, sweeping forward with his tongue until he finds the fragile skin at his dark, clenched goal. He pushes himself up a bit more and presses until the tip of his tongue breaches its mark. The boy turns around to look at him. 

"I don't think I want you to fuck me," he says. 

"Just passing the time," Jared says. He soon has Darren wriggling. The boy hardly notices when Jared slides a finger inside him. He strokes the prostrate, watching as Darren gets hard again. Darren is panting between sucks. Jared reaches down and grabs the base of his own cock. Darren gets off as come spurts over Jared's hand. He hands Darren the condom. "Put it on. Now." 

"I'm not sure I want…" 

"Put it on yourself. You're going to fuck me. Unless you don't want to?" 

The boy breaks a record getting the condom on. Jared stands up and braces himself against the stacks. He eases a come-wet finger into himself, balancing one foot on the floor and one next to _MapleTown Press_ , 1954. "Come on." 

"You don't want to do this on the floor?" 

"My boyfriend's a librarian. He always turns me down when I ask him for a fuck in the stacks. Keep the fantasy alive, Darren." 

Darren smiles and shakes his head in wonder. He moves behind Jared and parts his cheeks with his thumbs. "You're bruised up, you know that?" 

The guy from Torchie's. "You know I told you that sex doesn't have to hurt?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, sometimes it does." He looks over his shoulder. "But that's not going to be the case here, so take your time, all right?" 

"I'll try." 

Jared feels Darren's cock pushing into him. 

"Wait. Lube first." 

"What?" 

"Spit on your fingers. You'll want to use actual lube usually, but I've already worked myself open some, so you're fine." 

He hears Darren spitting and then a chubby finger presses inside. "What am I doing?" 

"Just rub until you can get a second finger in." Jared raises his foot to a higher shelf. "Try to hit the prostate a bit, too, if you don't mind." 

"Uh. Right." 

The second finger goes in. 

"Wiggle them a bit." 

Darren does. Jared takes this in, keeping his breathing steady, staring at the yearbooks in front of him. Darren's breathing is getting heavy. 

"O.K. Try your cock now. Just slide it in." 

The pressure, a gasp, and Darren is inside. He pauses, stomach against Jared's, breathing as if he cannot believe what he's done. Jared nods. "O.K. Good. You should be able to figure it out from here." 

"Yeah, I think so." Darren laughs, a high-pitched, eager nervousness. He holds Jared's hips and pulls him back a bit. He thrusts inside Jared, lifting him almost off the floor. The books press into Jared's arms, which he has resting on the shelves. "That feel o.k. to you?" 

"Do you hear me complaining?" 

"O.K. Just tell me, you know, if it doesn't." Darren starts off slowly, but soon youth gets the best of him and he is pounding into Jared. Darren clutches Jared's shoulders as Jared closes his eyes and moans. Something brings him out of it, something against his chest, like he's being struck. He looks down and realizes he is. The medallion and the ring are swinging against him. He watches with a certain disconnect and realizes that when he closed his eyes, he had imagined Rob. He looks through a gap in the books towards the door, and then down again and realizes he has gone flaccid. He feels Darren pulse and come. When the boy is off him, he picks up his clothes and slowly pulls them on. Darren does the same, if with more lightness. 

"You all right?" Darren says. 

"Fine." He feels unclean, somehow. Like he was doing the kid a favor, showing him the joys of gay sex and then had the carpet pulled out from under him by fidelity. "Let's get back to work." 

"I'll be right back. I'm just going to wash up." 

"Yeah." Jared watches the kid go. He wipes his hands on his trousers. 

Darren comes back as Jared is reading. He sits down and starts reading, too. 

"This could be a waste of time," Jared says. 

"Wait. Look at this." Darren pushes a yearbook towards him. He taps a picture. Jared looks. It is the college swim team. "Read the names." 

"I am." He follows the caption with his finger, stopping twice. "Misha and Sterling were on the same team." 

"Yeah." Darren is grinning. 

"Good. This is good. O.K. What else?" 

"There's another box of papers to go through. Should I get them?" 

"Absolutely." 

Darren hurries off as Jared makes a note about the team in his tablet. 

When Darren returns, they continue working in silence for awhile. 

"What about this one? 'Sophomore Hospitalized'? Sterling wrote it, and look, he lived in the same dorm as your brother. Ashley Davenport. Ring a bell?" Darren says.

"No…" Jared writes it down anyway. "Does it say anything else?" 

"Just that he sustained injuries. It doesn't say how." 

"Can I see that?" Darren shows Jared the article. He takes a moment to read it. 

"What do you think?" 

"I think this is a terrible example of journalism. The only question answered here is 'who?'. The other W's and the H are omitted." 

"So, he was a bad journalist?" 

"Or he was hiding something." 

"Wow. I didn't know research could be so exciting." 

"It's like a treasure hunt conducted while sitting on your ass." He jots the date of the article down. 

They flip through a few more papers without finding anything useful. "Was it really all right?" Darren says.

"What?"

"The sex." He lowers his voice to a whisper.

"Yes. You did everything right."

"I didn't mean…"

"Well, what then?"

"You're kind of acting different now."

Jared reaches across the table for Darren's hand. "I'm sorry. It has nothing to do with you, I promise."

"Oh. O.K."

"It's my brother. You know—this whole thing." He gestures to the papers. "He's got us all worried."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I was stupid to think…"

"No, no. It's fine. It's normal to be sensitive."

"Do you think I'm too sensitive?"

"I didn't say that."

"But…" Darren is staring at him with wide eyes and wobbly lip. Jared goes on patting his hand as if to assuage an explosion.

"I'm in love with someone else," he says, and Darren snatches his hand away and gets up so quickly that the chair falls backwards. It hits a shelf and bounces back to the upright position.

"Well, I'm not in love with you. I'm not going to fall in love with the first guy I fuck. I'm not that fucking lame. It's not like I'm thinking about us going out or anything." Even at a distance, Jared can see spit flying from Darren's mouth as his face grows redder with each word.

"I'm not saying you are. I just…I should have been clear on that before."

"Well. Who is he?"

"He's the librarian I told you about."

"The one who won't fuck you in the stacks?"

"That's the one."

"I fucked you in the stacks." Darren says this as if he deserves an award.

"Darren, will you please sit down? We have a lot of work to do before Jensen gets back."

"'We have a lot of work to do'," Darren mimics. But, he sits anyway, twisted to the side so he isn't facing Jared.

"You asked me to," Jared says.

"So?"

"Well—Darren, if I'd been your age and had an older guy come along to show me the ropes, I'd have jumped on him, same as you." Jared can't hide his exasperation.

"I didn't jump on you."

"It's an expression."

"Yeah, and it means exactly what it sounds like."

"All right. Fine. I used you. You are a complete innocent in all of this. Are you happy?"

"Fuck you."

"I think you can anticipate my comeback to that."

Scowling, Darren empties the last paper from the box and spreads it in front of him.

"Don't be mad," Jared says.

"I'm not."

"Do you want me to blow you?"

"What?"

"Under the table?"

"And that would do what?"

"I don't know—you're nineteen. It will probably solve something."

"Fucking hell. You're a moron."

"When it comes to interpersonal relations, yes. I freely admit it. So, if you think it will make you feel better, I'll do it."

"Yeah, O.K."

"What?"

"On your knees, bitch." Darren says, grinning.

Jared rolls his eyes and drops beneath the table. He opens Darren's pants and pulls out his cock. The boy is half hard and with a few strokes of his tongue, he goes all the way. Jared deep throats him, enjoying the heaviness and salt of the boy's skin. The kid moans and thrusts, arching himself off the chair. Jared swallows him, working his throat around the cock until Darren reaches down and clutches his shoulder, pushing him back, but not letting go of his shirt, as if he cannot decide what he wants Jared to do. He moves off before the kid comes and lets him shoot onto the floor. When he gets up, the kid is ashen-faced. 

"That bad?"

Darren points at the door. Jared wipes his mouth on his sleeve, smoothes his shirt, and turns and sees Jensen standing with his arms crossed, looking as if he's wandered into an art installation that he doesn't particularly care for.

"Anything interesting?" Jensen says. "Misha-wise, I mean."

"Misha and Sterling were on the swim team together," Jared says. 

"So they probably knew each other." 

"I'm assuming so. A boy in Misha's dorm was injured in Misha's senior year. I'm not sure if there's any connection. Sterling wrote the article, and there wasn't any detail to it, aside from the boy's name." 

Jared glances at Darren, who is staring between the two of them, lost in the absurdity of what Jared and Jensen are ignoring. Jared thinks, again, of all the things this boy has to learn.

"Ashley Davenport?" Jensen says. 

"How did you know?" 

"Darren was right. Mrs. Brown was plenty useful. She remembered Misha, said he and Ashley used to come into the chapel a lot." Jensen rolls off the doorjamb, angling himself for an exit. Jared starts to follow. He looks back at Darren, and then at Jensen, who is waiting. He bends quickly and kisses Darren, soft and short. Jensen snorts. Jared hurries after him.

"I can't picture Misha being religious." Jared says as they stride out of the library.

"She said Ashley was. He used to light candles and Misha would hang out and wait for him. Said they were close." 

"I don't remember him mentioning him…" 

"I don't either, but we've had twenty years to forget." 

"Right. Did she say what happened to Ashley?" This as they reach the car.

"No. Just that it was a 'terrible shame'." 

"That's not much help." 

"I went to the registrar after talking to her and got them to look up records for Misha and Sterling and Ashley." Jensen guns the car. Jared grabs his seatbelt and snaps it on. 

"How'd you do that without a badge or a warrant?" 

"I used my ample charm." 

"Left some poor student crying under a desk, did you?" Jared bites his tongue as he says it, and waits for the inevitable 'no worse than you' that is sure to follow.

"And found out that Misha was released from his classes three months early with a perfect GPA for the semester, Sterling transferred out at the end of the year, and Ashley was listed on medical leave from March to May and then his record ends. So, he either transferred or he died." 

"Shouldn't they have noted that?" 

"Yes." 

"Why would Misha have been released from his classes?" 

"I don't know." 

"Was he Ashley's roommate? Isn't there a clause that if your roommate dies, you get automatic 4.0 for the semester? I thought it was a rumor, but some schools might implement it…" 

"If he was Ashley's roommate, then he'll know the truth about what happened to him. I think we've found the link between these three, and it has to do with this Ashley." 

"We need to find him." 

"We need to figure out if he's alive first." 

"No, we need to find out what happened to him, and what Misha had to do with it." 

"What makes you think Misha had anything to do with it?" 

"Those bruises on him are the kind he would have had to sit still for. I think he's feeling guilty about something. Maybe he's been keeping it in too long and he doesn't know how to handle it."

"Could be why he's running off to Torchie's. Easy to find someone to beat on you there." 

"What do you mean 'running off to Torchie's'?"

"He was there the other night, when you came to get me. I saw him there with someone."

"Who?"

"I didn't know him."

"Him?" Jensen gives Jared a sharp look.

"I'm not implying anything, all right? Two guys go into a room, doesn't have to mean anything, does it?"

Jensen grunts. "You're sure it was Misha?"

"Jensen."

"You see anything? Get close or anything?"

"I didn't want him to see me, so, no, I didn't walk up and ask to be introduced. But I did..."

"What?"

"The guy he was with? I saw him hit Misha. He's the one responsible for the bruises."

"You saw him hit your brother and you didn't do anything?"

"Neither did Misha."

"I'm going to kill him. Both of them. Misha and whoever this guy is."

"You like that I've got you on a case, don't you? Even if it is unofficial." 

"You know, kid, I kind of do." For a while, Jensen doesn't speak. They are back in Upton when he says, "I've been thinking about Misha." Of course he has. Because Jensen's a bulldog on a case. "He's guilty of something. Or about something. Would explain what you saw at Torchie's. He's letting someone hurt him for a reason." 

"Do you think so?" Jared asks. He's not sure where Jensen's going with this.

"You have to stop thinking of him as your brother and start thinking of him as any other guy. You need to be analytical." 

"Any other guy who goes to a gay club and slinks off into the backroom with a man." 

"Yes. We'll get the story from Misha tomorrow. We'll force him to tell if we have to." Jensen pulls the car into his own building's lot. 

"You aren't taking me home?" 

"You're going to shower. You smell like sex. You shouldn't be walking into your house with another man's scent on you." 

"This something you learned from your vast experience in cheating on your wife?" 

"It's something I should have learned faster." 

"Rob doesn't care. He just wants me home." 

They step off the elevator. "If you believe that, then you're a bigger idiot than I thought." Jensen glares at him briefly. 

"You know, I asked him to come today."

"Oh. Well, we'll just blame Rob for it. That makes sense."

"I don't know what you want me to do."

"Get your head out of your ass for a start." 

"You take my sexuality personally." 

"I taught you how to throw a football." 

"No, Misha did. I hardly spent any time with you." 

"And what little time you did spend was with a football in your hands. Of course now you've swapped it for a different kind of sport." 

"I'm sorry if I ruined your expectations." 

"Jared, I will punch your fucking head in. Don't you ever apologize for who you turned out to be, to me or anybody. Got it?" 

"Yes." He doesn't get it. And part of him is a little scared. Jensen talking like this, acting like this, it throws him. He doesn't know what to do about it. 

Jensen shoves him into the bathroom and slams the door on him. 

Jared sniffs his shirt as he strips it over his head. It smells as it always does—a mix of fabric softener and body soap. He doesn't know what Jensen meant. Smelling of sex. He shows his teeth in the mirror and sticks his tongue out. No evidence of what he's done there. He rinses anyway. Where does Jensen get the right to make him feel like he's done something wrong? He and Rob have an open relationship. If Rob doesn’t act on it, it's his decision. He steps into the shower. He's washing to please this unwelcome inkling of Jensen's. Rob won't care. He thinks of all the times he's had a guy blow him and then come home and shown Rob what he's learned. And Rob asking him about the guy's dick and how he smelled and how he touched him. It was as if Rob wanted to be there with him, watching, or wanted to be him. Water washes over him. Could Rob have been putting on an act? Jared had fallen in love first, but Rob had fallen hardest. Would he have pretended to like hearing about Jared’s other men to keep Jared with him? Jared feels sick and angry. He stays under the shower, lets the water pound his back until the sound presses his thoughts away. 

He shuts the faucet off and reaches for a towel. 

Jensen is on the phone, standing across the room when Jared opens the door from the bathroom. His brother points towards a stack of clothes on the end of the couch, and turns his back on him. When Jared picks up the shirt, he is surprised to recognize it as his own. He has not seen it in years. The pants are his, too. He sets them down again and towels himself dry. In the corner, Jensen is murmuring, obviously trying not to be heard. Jared picks up the shirt and edges closer. He stops when he hears Jensen say his ex-wife's name. He starts to return to the couch, but Jensen turns and sees him, so he stands where he is and puts the shirt on. 

"Get on with it," Jensen says.

"I thought I gave these to the goodwill," Jared tells him. Jensen turns away again, and he realizes that Jensen had not been talking to him.

He goes to get the pants, and Jensen's voice is a distant rumble. He dresses, pretending that by turning his back he is giving his brother privacy. As he is doing up the zip, Jensen hangs up the phone. He comes in and throws himself onto the couch with a gush of breath. 

"No, Jared, you did not donate those to the Goodwill."

"How's Mary?"

"She's fine."

"So—you guys are speaking again?"

"Mind your own business, Jared."

"Sorry." He runs his hand through his hair, flicking water out. "I left my underwear in your bathroom. I'll get them and we can go." 

Jensen watches him go into the bathroom and snorts. "Figures you'd go commando." 

"I'm not going to put dirty underwear on." 

"Priss." 

Jared comes back with his underwear in hand. "You're the one who forced me to take a shower. Do you have a bag for these? I'm not carrying them like this."

Jensen nods and goes into the kitchen. He returns with a plastic grocery bag and hands it over. 

"Thanks." As Jared drops his shorts in, Jensen gets his coat and keys and waits for him at the door. He gives Jared a once-over as he locks up, as if checking that he has cleaned and put himself back together properly. 

"Do I look the part?" he says.

Jensen shrugs. "I'm sure somebody would take you."

"That's usually the problem." 

Jensen doesn't bother with an answer, just grabs his elbow and steers him towards the elevator. Outside, Jared waits for him to unlock the car door, staring at the brown beast. He remembers when his father brought it home the first time and how Jensen had taken to it even then. He remembers, as well, the cuffing across the ear his grandmother had given him when he had commented that the interior looked like re-used vomit, and how she had bent down to him, standing behind, and whispered that men didn't like to be told about taste because most of them didn't have any. After thirty years, the ugliness still takes him by surprise, and each time he needs a moment to remind himself that such a car does exist and he is about to ride in it. To tell Jensen such a thing never crosses his mind. Stupidity, in some avenues at least, is not a trait he cultivates.

He gets in the car. Jensen reaches over him and pops the glove compartment. A dog-eared book falls out. He catches it and shoves it back inside, but not before Jared catches the title. _Wuthering Heights_. He risks a grin in Jensen's direction, as if he's been let in on a secret. "Not mine," Jensen says. "So don't you start thinking anything."

"Why is it in your glove box, then?"

Jensen ignores him, grabs a tape from the glove compartment, shakes it free of the case, and pops it into the car's player. "Moon River" fills the car. Jared checks the tape case. _Andy Williams Greatest Hits_. 

"Andy Williams?"

"It came with the car."

"And you haven't found the time to throw it out in twenty years?" 

Jensen puts the car into gear and pulls into the street. He drops his head back and groans.  
Jensen chuckles behind closed lips. "You loved Andy when you were little. Don't go pretending you didn't."

Jared smiles. "I remember Dad taking us to the Christmas show when I was six."

"Same year he got this car. Face it, kid, this car and Mr. Williams are indelibly linked. No way around it."

"Fine. You win." Jared buckles up, and resigns himself to listening to Andy Williams on the trip home. 

Jensen merges onto the expressway. "I bet I could still get you to sing "I Love You, Baby". Come on—" He begins to sing, full-throated and not entirely out of reach of the tune. Jared laughs. Jensen reaches out and pounds his leg. "You're quite all right..." Finally Jared gives in and sings along. They sing together for a few words, but on a whole note, Jensen stops, as Jared knew he would, and he finishes the word alone. 

"Told you so," Jensen says.

Jared watches out the window. Traffic is light. "We got into an accident on the way home from that concert."

"I don't remember that." Jensen, almost imperceptibly, squeezes the steering wheel. 

Jared notices anyway. 

"Dad rear-ended a car in front of us. He was pulling up to a traffic light, so there wasn't any damage done. You really don't remember? You took me for an ice cream while Dad and Mom waited for the police to come. We sat at the tables next to the stand and watched."

Jensen's knuckles have gone white.

"Please. Can we please stop listening to this tape now?" Jared says. "I'm not the biggest fan."

"Dad didn't mean it, Jared."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He reaches for the radio, but Jensen knocks his hand away and turns it down himself. 

"You shouldn't let yourself hate something just because someone else is a prick."

"Wish you'd said that twenty-five years ago."

Jensen doesn't say anything, and Jared is glad to let it drop. He wants to remember that night because Jensen had hustled him towards the small ice cream shack to give his youthful energy a distraction, and not because his father had been turned around, yelling at Jared to stop mimicking the dancers in his seat when the collision occurred. Jared had bumped his head on the seat in front of him, and Jensen got a cut above his eye, which resulted in a scar he still had. Jensen had grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the car as soon as it stopped, calling to their Dad not to worry, that he would take care of Jared. Jared had protested that he was not a kid, but he had gone along anyway, choosing ice cream over standing next to the car as the other driver yelled about his rear fender. 

Jensen got him a cone with sprinkles, and they sat together. When the police came, Jared was disappointed that their lights and sirens were off. He was scared, but more than that he was bored because it was just grownups talking and passing pieces of paper back and forth. He finished his cone and got up and started dancing again, like he'd done in the car, only outside he could get his arms wide like the girls onstage had. He remembered being happy, but then Jensen had told him to throw their napkins away, so he had stopped. Jared had looked towards his father as he pushed his trash into the receptacle, not certain if he wanted to have been seen or not, but his father was still occupied with the paperwork. 

When the police left, and they returned to the car, Jared had patted his father's head from his seat. "Not now, Jared," he said. Jared sat back, not knowing what to do since his offer of apology and comfort was roundly rejected. They were silent the rest of the way home, as if everyone else understood the unsaid message, too. When anyone bothered to tell him that his father had been upset that night because he was worried about Jared’s mom, and not because of Jared’s showgirl dance moves, the idea that he should be ashamed had already solidified in his mind. No one had told him about Mom’s terminal diagnosis either, not until he came home from school one day and discovered an ambulance in his front yard. It drove away with Marian Padalecki and did not return. 

"What was the lead you were following when you went to Torchie's?" Jensen asks. "Assuming you were there on a lead and not to get your rocks off." 

Jared almost sighs, he is so pleased to have a distraction from his thoughts. "I didn't tell you?" 

"No." 

"I found out that Sterling pulled the number for Mark Pellegrino off of my assistant's desk. His assistant said he'd mentioned Torchie's to him, so off I went." 

"You think Mark Pellegrino is involved in this?" 

"I think so, yes. That's why you came to get me, isn't it?" 

"Because your assistant—Genevieve, is it?" 

"Yes." 

"Said you were meeting him, not because I knew you'd connected him to Brown's disappearance." 

"Oh." 

"You should have told me." Jensen has stopped in front of Jared's building, but Jared stays in the car, feeling the need to be dismissed.

"I'm telling you now." 

"Next time tell me earlier." 

"O.K." He takes this as his cue. He gathers up the plastic bag containing his underpants and lets himself out. He feels Jensen's hand on his shoulder, and he almost waits, but it is just as quickly gone. He thinks he hears Jensen say goodnight through the closed door. He turns to wave, but the car is moving away.

In the apartment, Rob is at the dining room table writing, with books open and spread out around him. Jared takes his jacket off and goes over to him. 

"Miss me?" he asks. He bends down for a kiss. 

Rob grabs his collar and holds him for a moment. Something passes over his eyes, and Jared knows that he knows. He should have refused Jensen's insistence that he shower before returning home, as if that would make any difference, and they weren't hiding it anyway, because Rob always knew, but dammit, he wasn't supposed to care. Jared wants to tell him about what happened with the boy at the college, how for the first time that he can remember he got a guilty conscience in the middle of sex, but Rob lets him go and turns back to his work. 

Jared goes to sit in front of the television. He turns it on but doesn't watch. After awhile, Rob comes in and hands him a tumbler half filled with white wine. He sits at the other end of the couch, grabs the remote and changes the channel to the Food Network. As Rachel Ray counts down her thirty minute clock, Rob and Jared's feet, as if acting on an attraction unknown to their owners, scoot towards each other until they meet at the soles. Jared finishes his wine. He looks over at Rob. The tendon running up Rob's neck pulses from the effort of looking nowhere else but at the television.

** Chapter Five **

Jared edges towards consciousness to find Rob hovering over him, blinking slowly. His legs and chest are tucked up behind Jared, angles perfectly fit into the bend of Jared's knees and the line of his back. It would be a cozy way to wake, if not for Rob's expression, which is the polar opposite of bemused. Rob has propped himself up on an elbow so Jared receives the full benefit of his glare. He twists onto his back as Rob's face remains above him.

"What?" he asks.

Wordlessly, Rob points at the window with his thumb and narrows his eyes. Jared sits up a bit and looks. From this angle, he sees nothing but blue sky and a trio of stratus clouds. He glances at Rob and offers up a shrug that is contained to his eyebrows and cheeks. Rob shifts until he has his weight off his arms and then turns Jared's head so his left ear is aligned to the window. He hears Rob's breathing, then his own, followed by the drone of the central air conditioning. He forces himself to focus, to extend his listening outside the confines of the apartment. And there it is, a car honking on the street below. Three sharp blasts and a pause and three more. He sighs. Rob allows his head to drop back onto the pillow.

"Your chariot has arrived," Rob says, managing to drip sarcasm even with bed-head hair standing on end on one side and pushed flat on the other.

Jared thrusts his feet off the bed and uses the momentum to roll up to a sitting position. "I'm sorry. I don't know why he didn't call."

"He did. I've been poking you for three minutes." Rob gets out of bed himself, moving backwards until his feet touch the floor and then easing backwards on his stomach until he has no choice but to stand.

"I'm sorry. I thought we'd have more time."

"It's all right. It's not like this is my sleeping-in day."

Jared winces. It certainly is Rob's day for not getting up at the crack of dawn to do whatever it is librarians do before the doors open to the public. He gets one a fortnight, if he's lucky. Jared scrubs his hair with bare fingers. It feels stiff, as if someone has dumped glue on it in the night. "I hoped we could have some time to talk," he says. Rob had said nothing the night before about any suspicions he had about Jared's day, but the silence was enough to make his thoughts clear. Jared had gone to bed early, leaving Rob alone with his book and whatever emotions he was trying to ignore. He follows with his eyes as Rob lurches towards the bathroom.

"You never want to talk." A steady flow of urine provides the background noise to Rob's answer. Jared is not sure if this is meant symbolically or not. He heads for the bathroom himself, and stands in the doorway, watching as Rob shakes himself off. Jared pushes off the urge to go to his knees in front of Rob, the rush of desire brought upon by witnessing Rob and this utilitarian function, this most unsexy of activities. He suspects that if he were to make a move towards Rob's cock, no matter what his intent and reason, Rob will view it as a signal that 'talking' is an empty word to him. Rob tucks himself back into his pajamas as if he is alone, with no trace of self-consciousness. Jared reaches out and turns the faucet on for him. Rob rinses his hands and Jared shuts it off.

In the distance, the honking grows more insistent. Jared allows himself to hope that Mrs. Harper from upstairs is dialing the police with a noise complaint, just for the thought of what Jensen will do when confronted with a cruiser and two officers who will have no idea that they are about to ask a detective in a foul mood to keep it down.

"You never got angry at me like this before."

"I did. You just didn't notice."

There is nothing he can say to that, no denial that will offset the fact of his studied obliviousness without making it obvious that he knows exactly what he is doing when he comes home after a fuck with a stranger, hands Rob a drink and a smile and asks about his day. He maneuvers past Rob towards the toilet. He can feel Rob watching him as he pees. He flushes and washes his hands. Rob has hooked his thumbs into his pajama bottoms and is staring at his feet, flexing his long toes into the deep plush of the bathroom rug in front of the sink.

"I have to go," Jared says. He knows it's the wrong thing to do, that Rob's expression, the way he is worrying his lip between his teeth indicates he's about to say something that he doesn't want to say and that Jared should stick around for it and not, for once, avoid conversation because it might be difficult. Rob puts his arm out, effectively barricading the doorway and saving Jared from making any type of decision, though he does not seem aware of it.

"Rob?"

"Do you know how long it's been since I've had sex with someone who isn't you? Two years and eight months."

The admission takes Jared by surprise, and even though he knows he has no right to it, jealousy blooms in his gut and spreads out, tentacle-like, towards his groin and heart.

"That's before I had sex with anyone else."

"I was scared. I was in love with you and it terrified me."

"Is that why it was your idea that we have a non-exclusive relationship?"

Rob nods. "I thought... I don't know. I thought it would make it less daunting, this thing I was feeling. Backfired on me. Plus, you know, you hadn’t ‘sown your seeds’ yet, and I didn’t want you to look back and resent me for pinning you down."

"You could have said." Jared wants to bring Rob into his arms, but the way he is standing, stiff and alone, leads him to leaning against the sink and door frame instead.

"Waited a bit too long for that, I think. By the time I realized my mistake, you were already putting your dick in anything that moved."

"Not anything," Jared says. Rob responds with a tight smile.

"You'd better get going before Jensen comes up here."

"Fat chance of that. So who was it?"

"Who?"

"Who you slept with."

"I never ask you about yours."

"That's your decision. Do I know him?"

Rob looks away. "You know everyone, don't you?"

"Friend of yours?"

"Slept with him."

"Doesn't always mean friendship."

Rob snaps around, his glare full-on. "Some might see that as a flaw of yours."

"Did you love this mystery man?"

"He didn't compare at all to you," Rob says, answering the question that Jared is trying to ask. Jared looks away, and is only dimly aware as Rob moves up and squeezes his shoulders. Jared raises his head. "Please. Forget about it. Go on, sleep with whoever you want. Just come home, all right?" Rob's eyes are glistening, but with Rob's allergies, there is nothing uncommon about that. It does not have to mean that tears are imminent. Jared leans into him as Rob drops his head forward until they are touching. "Just come home." Jared nods, rubbing his forehead against Rob's.

"I always do." He slides out of Rob's arms, away from the spot where he is squeezed between Rob and the doorframe. "But now I have to get going before Jensen decides to kill me on sight for making him wait."

Rob smiles and lets him go. Jared heads for the closet. When he turns from the shelves, shirt and slacks in hand, he is alone in the room. Rob's revelation has thrown him, if he is honest. In his conceit, he has always assumed that Rob suggested non-exclusivity as a way of keeping Jared's interest. It never occurred to him that it was sparked by something Rob had experienced. He isn't sure what to do with this knowledge. He knows that self-righteousness is not a response that deserves any sort of consideration, and for this reason he wishes that Rob had not told him. 

As he steps into his trousers, he runs through the list of Rob's friends for the most likely candidate. There is Colin, who brought Rob to the party where he and Jared met, but if Jared remembers correctly, Colin was dating someone named Jim, and they didn't look the type for blurred limits. He just as briefly considers Stephen, a clerk at the library, but conjuring up Rob and Stephen together and having their social awkwardness somehow lead to sex is too much for even Jared's imagination to accept. Rob shouting his name and the now steady blast of the horn forces him to abandon further conjecture. He tells himself it is for the best as he yanks his socks on and races towards the door for his shoes. Rob is waiting with a brown paper bag, and Jared ties his laces, feeling like Ward Cleaver about to be sent out into the world by his devoted 1950's television wife.

"I am not June Cleaver, so stop thinking that this instant," Rob says.

Jared grins at his shoes. "I wasn't."

This earns him a backhand on the top of his head.

"I was a little."

Rob grunts, sounding lighter than he has since Jared came home. Jared stands up and faces him. For a moment, they just look at each other, Jared waiting to see if this new revelation has changed the way he sees Rob. He feels as if his eyes have been opened to Rob, but he has nothing more to see, no more honesty magically unfolding, no feeling that another confession is there to be given or received. There is only Rob in front of him, holding up a lunch-sized bag, his hair just as frightening as when he first woke up, and wearing a crooked smile. Jared takes the bag and stoops to kiss Rob's cheek.

"I love you," he says. He straightens, flushed with how much he means it, as if Rob's seeking out another man to ease the shock of an affection that caught them unawares and gave them no choice but to take the blow full on, even so long ago, has spurred the need to draw him closer. To reassure that each is still here. Rob's lips are wet when they touch his, the result of a habit he has of dabbing them with his tongue.

"Love you, too. Now get out of here." He pulls the door open and starts shoving Jared out. He doesn't mind, though, because there is something humorous and light about it, something that says they're O.K. again. The last thing Jared hears before Rob shuts it on him is "And the bag's for Jensen, not you. If you don't give it to him, I'll know."

Jared crinkles the top of the sack in his fist. Not entirely forgiven, then. He sighs and trots towards the elevator. Only nine minutes have passed since Rob woke him up, but enough has happened that it feels like an hour, and he approaches Jensen's car expecting to get his head chewed off. He dives into the car quick as he can and shoves the bag at his brother, hoping the offering will fend off any thoughts of violence.

Jensen, though, is grinning and, for someone who has been acting mightily impatient for almost a quarter of an hour, appears relaxed. He opens the bag and pulls out a bagel. Jared recognizes it as one that Rob made himself with sprouted grains and unrefined everything. It is overloaded with sprouts and sliced carrots and other things that Jared cannot imagine Jensen will ever allow near his digestive system. He tries not to look at it too eagerly, despite a growling stomach, as he waits for Jensen to hand it over.

Instead, Jensen says, "Suspension's over. I'm cleared." He shoves the sandwich into his mouth, his grin still evident as he bites down. Jared buckles himself in. Bits of sprout hit him on the stomach when Jensen turns with the bagel still in his mouth as he checks out his back window for oncoming traffic before reversing out of his parking space. Jared picks them up and pops them into his mouth.

"How about you give me half of that sandwich in celebration?"

"I'm a growing boy," Jensen says. "Get your own rabbit food."

Jared slumps down in the seat. Jensen taps him on the thigh. It is meant to be gentle, but, this being Jensen, Jared can feel a bruise already forming. "You could say congratulations."

"You know I've always supported you. I knew you didn't do anything wrong."

Jensen nods. "Course I didn't. Those lowlifes were brought in fair and square. I don't know what the problem was."

"I think it had something to do with one of them getting a cracked head."

"He's lucky he didn't end up with a broken neck."

"You can't have expected him to follow the 'no running by the pool' rule when you were chasing him."

Jensen shrugs. "His choice to run. The whole thing was a farce if you ask me, but it was handled right, every bit of it. Took them long enough to figure that out." He crams the last of the sandwich in. "Your man should have been a chef. Forget this librarian shit."

"It must be good if you're calling him 'my man'."

"I am not the Neanderthal that many would like to believe."

Jared grins. Jensen squashes up the bag and tosses it into Jared's lap.

"So when do you go back?"

"A few days. They have to get the paperwork done, put me back on active duty. Don't worry, kid. We're going to get this thing figured out first."

"Guess this means you're not going to Acapulco. Sorry about that." Jared doesn't understand about paperwork, not the important kind. In his job, it doesn't affect him so much.

"What would I do on vacation anyway?"

"I don't know. Drink daiquiris and screw the natives?"

"I can do that here. Though I'd probably opt for a more a mannish libation."

"Your loss. Danneel will be glad to have you back."

"I see her more now than I did when I was on the job. She's been bringing me groceries. She thinks I'm helpless."

"Maybe she has a crush on you."

"Who doesn't?"

"Your ego astounds."

"Hmm."

Misha is overseeing a build fifteen miles out of town, at the top of a long and winding road. Jensen's car sputters as it drags itself up the hill.

"We could have taken my car. It has enough power to get up a hill."

"Yeah, and you know who I'd blame for my bad temper caused by having to sit in the passenger seat?"

"Me?"

"You."

"I've always liked this car."

"That's better."

Jared grasps the rattling door and prays the car will hold itself together until they get there. 

 

Misha is standing next to his truck, chatting to a young man when they arrive. He waves as Jensen guns the engine down. "Did you tell him we were coming?" Jared asks, waving back. 

"Had to get directions, didn't I?" Jensen says. 

"That kid looks familiar."

"You probably slept with him." Jensen slams the car door. 

"I don't think so," Jared says. He turns from the car and extends his arms towards his approaching brother. He and Misha embrace. Jensen offers a nod. Misha squeezes the young man's shoulder. . 

"This is Aldis. He's our little social worker in training. Working his way through school by building stuff for some reason. He's absolute crap at it." 

"We heard about you. You’re the one who leaves boards around," Jared says. 

"What?" Aldis looks flustered. "I don't..."

"Well, someone's blaming you for it. The ones Misha keeps tripping over. He's been telling us how clumsy he is. Falling all the time." Jared looks from Aldis to Misha. Misha gives no indication that he remembers the conversation in Jared's kitchen when the subject came up.

"Jared's just pulling your leg, Aldis," Misha says.

"Oh." Aldis looks down, then turns, and as Jared sees him from the back, he knows who Aldis is. 

"Shall we go inside?" Misha opens the door to the trailer and trots up the steps. 

Jared grabs Jensen and pulls him out of earshot. "I'm going to stay out here a minute." 

"You think this is a good time to be angling for someone's pants? Don't answer that."

"I remember where I know him from."

"Where?"

"Just give me a minute, O.K.? 

Jensen's eyes narrow. He starts towards Aldis, but Jared blocks him. 

"Only a minute. You go talk to Misha. He's waiting." 

"Right." Jensen nods and goes inside after Misha. 

Jared turns to find that Aldis is watching him. He has moved a little ways off and is standing beside a table made up of a strip of plywood and two saw horses. Various tools and wood scraps are scattered across it. Aldis picks up a hammer as Jared walks over. He ineffectually swings at a nail. His grimace is audible.

"Wow. You really do suck." Jared takes the hammer from him and pounds the nail home. Then he does the next and the next as Aldis watches. 

"Learn that from your dad?" 

"From Misha. Dad pretty much just yelled that I was doing it wrong. Misha showed me the right way to do it. I always hated working on a construction site, but I guess I'm glad for the experience because now I can fix almost anything." Jared hands the hammer back. "Aldis, this might be sensitive, and you can say if it's none of my business, but this isn't the first time I've seen you." 

"Yeah? Don't think I've seen you..."

"I saw you at Torchie's with Misha."

"You must be thinking of someone else."

"I'm pretty good with remembering what the guy beating the shit out of my brother looks like."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Aldis—I just want to know what's going on with him. We're all worried."

"I told you—"

"Unless you'd rather talk to Jensen."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Jared shrugs. "I've always found him easy to talk to." He allows a hint of emphasis to creep into his tone, just enough to imply whatever Aldis thinks it should. It evidently works because Aldis swallows and his next swing lands three inches from the nail, leaving a dent in the wood. "Or you could talk to me," Jared says. He tells himself that he is doing what Jensen would do, that Jensen would not mind being set up as the heavy. Jensen and Danneel have probably intimidated over lesser matters. This is family. Jared gently removes the hammer from Aldis's wavering hand. "I promise I won't tell anyone. I just want to know if Misha's in trouble."

Aldis contemplates with his fingers the splintered bit of wood where his hammer fell wild. "He asked me to do it."

"And you didn't have any trouble agreeing?"

Aldis looks away. "School's expensive."

"He paid you?"

"He's very convincing. I think you have that in common."

"Why did he want you to hurt him?"

"You'd have to ask him." 

"Misha is married, you know. He has a child." 

"It wasn't sexual. He just wanted me to hurt him." 

"Why would you do that?"

"I told you. He offered me money. I don't judge people. He wants someone to beat him up for some reason? I don't ask why."

"How big of you."

"I like your brother. A lot. It just...it seemed like the right thing to do."

"And you're going to be a psychologist?"

"I'm at the beginning of my degree."

"I see."

Aldis raises his hand and wipes sweat from his brow. His nails are chewed to the quick. Blood is dried around the edges where skin meets nail. Jared grabs his hand. 

"Do you bite your nails?" 

Aldis shakes his head. "Not as a rule?" He gives it a teenager's inflection, making the answer into a question. 

"Then what's this?" He looks at his other hand, which is equally abused. 

Aldis's eyes water. "Punishment." 

Jared releases the hand. "Good."

"Yeah?"

"Otherwise I might think there was something wrong with you. Excuse me." Turning, Jared heads for the trailer. Aldis jogs up behind him.

"You won't tell Jensen will you?"

"Scared of him?"

"Yes, actually."

"Just—next time Misha asks you to beat on him, say 'no'."

"I'll try."

Jared lets out a sound this halfway between a sigh and a snort of disgust. His hand is on the door. He opens it and climbs into the trailer, leaving Aldis alone outside.

Misha is sitting on the couch. He looks as if he has been kicked. Jared glances at Jensen to see if he has been. Jensen is at the small table, looking through a ledger. 

"I don't see how this can…" Jensen says. 

"It's the truth. It's all there," Misha says. 

"What's going on?" 

"Jared, it's nothing to worry about," Misha says. 

"Tell him or I do," Jensen says. 

"It's the books. When I took the business over, I noticed there was something wrong. We had chunks of money paid out with no viable explanation. Two weeks after I inherited, I got my explanation." 

"Which was?" 

"Mark Pellegrino showed up to welcome me to town." 

"I don't understand." 

"His town," Jensen says. "As a paying resident, so to speak." 

"Are you saying that dad was making payouts to Pellegrino?" 

"I told him I wasn't interested," Misha says, ignoring the opportunity to say something bad about their father. "He went away and came back the next day with blueprints of all these buildings dad had done. There was a structural flaw in each of them. He'd been paying Mark to keep quiet about it." 

"How would Mark know?" 

"He owns the company that draws up the blueprints. The flaws aren't—aside from freak weather events, the buildings are fine. But, you still can't have that, you know? So, he told me that I had to pay or he'd go public. The business would fail. Dad's reputation would be ruined." 

"Yes." Jared sits down. 

"I told him I wouldn't do it. I started fixing the buildings. Every single one. We've done ten, have fifteen more to go. Plus the new projects to finance all the fixing. I'm barely keeping the business afloat." 

"Misha, do you know if Pellegrino has any connection to Sterling Brown?" 

"I told you, I don't know Sterling Brown." 

"We went to your school," Jared says. "He was the swim team with you." 

"Well, I forgot. I don't keep in touch with everyone I went to school with." 

"I don't think you forgot," Jensen says. "And what's this about the bruises?" 

"I'm fragile." 

"You've said that before. I remember, it was after you left college. I saw you without your shirt, all bruised up. You said you were fragile." 

"Well, some things never change." 

"Jared saw you at Torchies, Misha," Jensen says. 

"Aldis told me everything," Jared says. 

"I doubt it." 

"Tell us about Sterling." 

"There is nothing to tell. I haven't seen him since college. That is the honest truth. I don't know if he has any connection to Mark Pellegrino or not. Why do you keep asking?" 

"Because we think Pellegrino took Sterling, but if we can't connect the two of them, then it seems the kidnapping was a case of mistaken identity, in which case we have a bigger problem," Jensen says. "Because there's a chance Pellegrino will come for the person he thought he was getting." 

"Who?" 

"Me," Jared says. 

Misha stares at him. 

"Why would he want you? If this is about the money, why wouldn't he take me? Or Rachel. Or…" He trails off, unable to say his son's name. 

"Jared was onto him for an interview. Right place, right time. Except Sterling got there first." 

"I always knew I was easy," Jared says. No one laughs. He doesn't either. 

"So are you ready to talk or what?" Jensen asks. 

"Jared?" 

"I'm a little insulted, to be honest. Here I thought I was the target of our own Mark Pellegrino because of my outstanding journalistic integrity, but now it seems it's because my dad was a crook and my brother won't play ball." 

"Don't blame me. I'm trying to do the right thing." 

"I'm not blaming you. But I don't need to be the pawn in the middle, do I?" 

"I won't let anything happen to you," Jensen says. Jared doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry. Misha settles the question, breaking into a fit of hysterical giggles, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Jared watches him and doesn’t move. 

"Who’s Ashley Davenport?" Jensen asks. 

"What?" Misha looks up. 

"Ashley Davenport." 

"I…I don’t…" 

"Misha, stop. We know he’s in the middle of this. We know you know him." Jared punches his knee in frustration. 

"He was my roommate at college." 

"What happened to him?" 

"He tried to kill himself." 

"And?" 

"And he failed. End of story." 

"You graduated early." 

"I was fast-tracked anyway. Had nothing to do with him." 

"Did you have a 4.0. average 'anyway', too?" 

"I don’t remember. Is there some reason that you two are grilling me?" 

"We’re just worried about you." 

"Rachel won’t leave me alone either. She’s always watching me now, like I’m going to run off and get the shit kicked out of me. Do you know that she made me go shopping at yard sales with her last week? Yard sales!" 

"Misha…" 

"I’m fine. I’ve got the thing with Pellegrino under control. I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need your help. Please go." 

"Knock, knock." A tall, slender blond-haired man enters. Jared recognizes him immediately and manages, by great force of will to not throw himself at the man’s feet in supplication. 

"Sebastian Roche," he says. "I’m a big fan." 

"Ah, a member of the family, are you?" Sebastian's voice is posh and English. His tones are warm and clipped. 

Jared smiles, scrambling for something intelligent to say. 

"My brother Jared," Misha says, misunderstanding Sebastian's meaning of 'family'. 

Sebastian smiles and shakes Jared’s hand. Jensen watches without interest. "And my brother Jensen," Misha says. 

"I hope you don't mind my saying, but none of you look anything alike," Sebastian says.

"We mind," Jensen says.

Misha frowns. "Be nice to Sebastian, Jensen. He’s an old friend, and it's his house we're building." 

Sebastian turns towards Jensen, pauses, taking him in with a wolfish stare. Jensen stares right back. "Charming to meet you," Sebastian says, putting his hand out to Jensen. Jensen shakes it. "Not one of us, then?" he says to Jared. Jared shakes his head. 

Jensen claims his hand back and sticks it under his other arm. "That must be exciting for you." 

"You must come to the party once it’s done." 

Jensen snorts. "Not much of a party-type." 

"Oh, I can turn anyone into a party type, darling." 

"Did you stop in for anything?" Misha says. 

"Besides ogling the hammer-wielding young men and that fetching lesbian wander around my land?" 

"I don’t know that she’s a lesbian…" 

"Darling, please. No, I’ve come to check on you, dear. Are you feeling better from yesterday?" 

"What happened yesterday?" Jensen says. 

"Oh, yesterday, the day before, who can remember? Misha was terribly red-eyed." 

"I was tired." 

"Yes, falling over as I remember. I sent him straight home to bed." Sebastian leans in and peers at Misha. "You don’t look much better today. Perhaps I’d have been better off putting you to bed here." 

"Bet you’d like that," Jensen says. 

Sebastian waves him off. "Misha is not my type." He looks at Jensen and makes it clear that Jensen is. Jensen snorts and leans back on the desk. As Jared looks over, he notices a slight smile on Jensen’s face. 

Misha stands up. "All right. I understand you’re all concerned for me. I’m fine. Now will you all please go? I do have work to do." 

"Yes, yes. Go on, both of you. I’ll see he’s all right." Sebastian begins ushering Jared and Jensen out. 

"That was a bit fatherly, wasn’t it?" Jared says. 

"I was going to say a bit gay, but have it your way," Jensen says. They stand outside the trailer. 

Jared shakes his head. "He’s just like I anticipated he’d be." 

"Who is he?" 

"Gay activist. The things that man has done for our community… And he thinks you’re hot." 

"Well aren’t I the lucky one?" 

Rachel's car pulls up. She hops out and pulls open the door behind her to get Jack. The child races towards the trailer. Jensen catches him and lifts him up. Rachel grabs a bag of takeout and walks towards them. 

"Hello, boys. What are you doing here?" 

"Stopped in to say hello," Jared says. 

She narrows her eyes. "Oh?" 

"Jared met his hero," Jensen says. 

"How does Misha know Sebastian?" 

"He's a friend of my family's. In fact Misha and I first spoke at one of Sebastian's parties." 

"Really?" 

"Oh, yes. We'd done a play together at this little hole-in-the-wall theater uptown, but he was always so shy. I invited the whole cast out to Sebastian's for one of his big bashes, you know, with his permission, hoping Misha would open up a bit, but I've told you all this before." 

"I didn't realize it was his house." 

"Well, you'll have to come to the next one." 

"Jensen's already been invited." 

"Well, I'm not surprised." 

"Careful. I'll get a big head." 

"You don't mind that a man is into you?" 

"Well, why wouldn’t he be? I'm a grade A specimen. He'd damn well better be into me." 

"You're amazing." 

Jensen sniffs. Jack squirms, so Jensen sets him down. "Where's Daddy?" 

"He's talking to Uncle Sebastian," Rachel says. "Hang on." She lifts up the bag. "I know he's working late, so I brought dinner. I'm trying to work it out so we can see each other more, so he doesn't have a chance to…" 

"Trip over boards?" Jensen asks. 

"Yes." She looks towards the structure of the new edifice. Her face changes for a fraction of a second. Jared follows her gaze and sees Aldis peeking at them and then returning to his work. 

"Misha told me what happened. Told me about…" 

"We know." Jared tilts his head towards Aldis, so she'll get the hint if she is already thinking it. If not, she'll think he's gesturing towards anything. 

"How'd he tell you?" Jensen asks. 

"I made him. I can be quite scary." 

Jared nods, and then thinks that this is not the right thing to do. 

"Did you speak to Aldis? Is that why you're here?" 

"I didn't know who he…" Jared starts, but Jensen glares him into silence. 

"We were just worried about him, came out to see him, same as you," Jensen says. "I'll let him know you're here. Jack, come on." He lifts Jack up and goes into the trailer. 

Rachel touches Jared's arm as if, now that Jensen and Jack are gone, she can let her emotions show. "Misha was crying last night. You know, as much as society and culture, television, drama, push forward the idea that crying is an acceptable, even a desired trait for a man to have, I don't think there's anything as disturbing as a man in tears. Especially a man you love. Because when a man cries, it's end of the rope. What are you going to do for him then?" 

"I'm afraid I can't relate. I'm gay, so I cry over anything. I've cried three times since this morning." Jared grins, and Rachel does, too. 

"You've never cried in your life." 

"No, but I'll say anything for a smile." 

Rachel squeezes his shoulder. She opens the door as Sebastian is coming out. There is a brief kiss, made awkward by his having to bend down to accommodate the height difference caused by the steps. Misha appears behind her, Jack in his arms. Jensen trots down after Sebastian. Jared realizes his cell phone is buzzing and flips it open. The voicemail is from Beaver. "Just wanted to remind you that you have a job and maybe you should get your ass in here and do some work for once," he says. 

"Can you give me a ride to work?" He asks Jensen. 

"I suppose. You don't think you should go home first?" 

"Boss wants me in." 

"All right." 

"Leaving so soon, gentlemen?" Sebastian says. He pauses to brush something off Jared's shoulder. Jensen steps back. "Don't worry, darling. You're perfect." 

"Naturally," Jensen says. 

"Oh, and sassy, too." He flicks a wave at them and saunters off. They head for the car. 

"Get it off with the kid?" Jensen says once they are buckled in and moving and the radio is on. 

"What? No." 

"You were with him ten minutes. Losing your touch?" 

"We were talking about Misha." 

"And?" 

"He’s the one at Torchie’s with him." 

"Already knew that. And?" 

"Says it’s a guilt complex." 

"Right. Well, I guess we know why, now." 

"Do we?" 

"When Misha was twelve he started feeding a stray kitten. Put it in a box, carried it around. He was a big girl about it. Then one day, he comes home and the kitten's out in the street, its little head crushed. He scraped it up, wrapped it in a kitchen towel and we had a funeral for it out in the yard. Found out later that one of the boys next door had run over it with his bicycle. It was an accident, but Misha gave him a bloody nose." 

"What's your point?" 

"Wouldn't be the first time Misha's beat the shit out of somebody." 

"You think…?" 

"How do you know it was attempted suicide?" 

"He wouldn't…" 

"If Sterling knew that about Misha, don't you think Misha would want him out of the way?" 

"Are you saying you think Misha made Sterling disappear?" 

"Don’t put your eggs in one basket. That's all I'm saying. I got home first. I saw the kitten first. I was going to go out and clean it up and get rid of it, but Dad stopped me. He said Misha had to learn the truth about life and death and that sometimes the things you love died. Don’t know what he expected him to do, figured he'd get over a tiny thing like that before the night was out, I guess." 

"Do you wish you hadn't listened to him?" 

"No. Because it taught me something." 

"What?" 

"To think for myself. I never let him dictate what I'd do again." 

"And all it cost you was a little boy's broken nose." 

"He wasn't that little. Misha packed a mean wallop. Still, he was awfully fond of that kitten." 

Jensen turns the windshield wipers on. They screech as they drag across the windshield. Jared faces front and watches as they cut a line of vision against the blurring rain. 

Jared hadn't anticipated that Jensen would go into the office with him, but when they are riding up on the elevator together, he finds himself excited at the prospect of showing Jensen where he works. The door opens to the hustle and bustle—people running around, shouting, waving papers. Jared looks up for Jensen's expression, hoping for amazement and sees nothing of the sort. 

"Probably the same where you work, huh?" he asks. 

"We've got more guns," Jensen says. 

"Where's Paulie with the masthead?" someone shouts. 

"And less of that," Jensen adds. 

They stop at Genevieve's desk. Jared does introductions. "I'm the one who called you the other night to go get him," Genevieve says. 

"He's an idiot when left out without supervision, isn't he?" Jensen says. 

Jared pulls Jensen along. He deposits him at his desk. "Stay here, don't touch anything, and for gods' sake, don't flirt with Genevieve. She'll have your dick in a vice." 

"Padalecki, get your ass in here." Jim yells and both Jensen and Jared turn to look. 

"Don't. Move." Jared says again as he hurries off to heed his supervisor's call. 

"Have you been enjoying yourself today?" Jim asks. 

"I've been talking to people, following up leads on Sterling. I went out to Mapletown College to see if I could dig anything up, Boss." 

"And?" 

"Nothing." Jared has what many of his journaling cohorts lack—common sense. If Misha is part of it, if Jared himself was the target of the original kidnap attempt that got Sterling, and if what he and Jensen found out so far has brought more questions than answers, then he decides the best move is to keep quiet until the balance has shifted to more answers than questions. 

"I don't believe you." 

"I just need more time." 

"Right. Well, I need you to do an interview." 

"What is it?" 

"Heiress. Need a profile done." 

"You need me to profile an heiress? Has she been in a war?" 

"She lost her earrings in a cab once." 

"And you want me to talk to her." 

"I want you to remember that no matter how many awards you have on your mantle, you still work for me. Clear?" 

"Yes, boss." 

When Jared returns to his desk, Jensen has the good-evil drawer open and the stack of letters out. He is sucking on a lollipop and flipping through the letters. The lollipop stick hangs out of the corner of his mouth like a cigarette. 

"So you found my stash?" 

"Did you report these?" Jensen holds one up. 

"It's nothing serious." 

"Jared, this one wants your head on a platter. It recommends condiments. Is this what the people outside are about?" Jensen had nearly come to blows on the way in when a woman had charged forward and spit at Jared. Jared had seen her coming and dodged, but Jensen had been hit on the chin. Jared had pulled him back, using all his strength and shouting, "You don't hit women," while the woman had shouted that she could take him and put her fists up. 

"Come on, Jensen. You know the colorful ones are harmless. I tell the boss about the ones that aren't. The 'you're a waste of space' or 'I despair over sharing the same air as you.'" 

"Do you mind if I take these?" 

"Look." He rifles through the stack until he finds the right few. "This is from someone who lost his job after I uncovered a scandal at his company. Here's one from a teenager who didn't like what I said about the financing at her community center—I think you know how tetchy people get about that. It's just—I piss people off. Don't worry about it." 

Jensen takes up the letters. "I'll take that as a yes. And I want you to hand over any new ones. Understand?" 

"Jensen—" 

"Did that sound like a question to you?" 

"Yes, I understand." 

When they leave, Jensen positions himself between Jared and the protesters. Jared feels like he's at the carnival, six years old, with Jensen guiding him through the crowd and has the fleeting urge to hold his brother's hand. Instead, he trots beside him to the car where Jensen tosses the letters into the backseat. 

"Can you take me to my car? I've been assigned an interview with an heiress." 

"Though you didn't do shit like that." 

"I do when the boss is upset and trying to teach me a lesson."

** Chapter Six **

"I knew your father. He was a prick." The heiress says this first thing, as soon as he says his name and before she invites Jared inside her apartment.

The interview doesn't improve from those first words, and an hour later Jared, with relief, flees the well-appointed apartment.

He puts his notebook away as he waits for the elevator to take him down. Another man is on when he gets on. Jared can't help himself from looking, and the man looks straight ahead, barely concealing his smile. He is tall and thin, but broad-shouldered, with a tennis racket in one hand, tapping against his white sneakers. 

"Nice shoes," Jared says. 

The man looks him over. "Why don't we see if you can get me out of them?" British, too, and this clinches it. Jared smiles and stays on when the elevator reaches the lobby to ride back up. When the door opens again, he follows the man off. 

"I'm Tahmoh," his host says as he opens the door to an apartment that is awash in tasteful elegance. 

"Harold," Jared says. 

"You don't look like a Harold." 

"I'm afraid I can't return the accusation. I have no idea what a Tahmoh should look like." 

Tahmoh laughs. "Never mind about that. If I were you, I'd just hope I fuck like one." 

Jared laughs, too. Tahmoh takes him through to a kitchen. Jared rests his elbows on a bar and watches as Tahmoh makes a drink for them. 

"Are you visiting someone in the building or do you live here?" 

"Visiting." 

Tahmoh holds up a bottle of Stoli and one of Absolut, looking at Jared for a decision. Jared points to the Stoli. Tahmoh pours without judgment, hands it over, and then gives himself the other. 

"I'm trying to think who you might know on that floor." 

"It was work related." 

Tahmoh adds two ice cubes to the glasses using tongs and sets Jared's glass in front of him. "Work related? Will you be charging me for your company?" From the tilt of his head and the interest in his eyes, Jared gets the impression that he is not averse to the idea. 

"What? No. I'm not a—" He struggles for the word. "—escort." 

"Just a slut, then?" Tahmoh asks. 

Jared has a need to look away, but Tahmoh covers his hand with his own and raises his glass. "Takes one to know one, love." 

Jared blinks and raises his glass. He downs it in two goes. It burns to the back of his throat. 

"Shall we?" Tahmoh asks, once he has finished, too. "What are you in the mood for?" 

"I don't know," Jared says, which is the truth. "With that accent, you could probably make me come just from sitting in a chair fully clothed and reading the phone book if you wanted." 

"Well. As sexy as that sounds, and believe me, there are some entries in the J's which would blow your mind, I was hoping we could do something a bit more…adventurous." He comes around to Jared's side of the bar and turns the stool so Jared's knees are framing his hips. He puts his hands on Jared's knees and kisses him. Jared releases his glass, raising his hands to Tahmoh's hair, pushing, kissing back. Tahmoh's hands move beneath his ass, sliding along the stuffed leather of the stool and then molding back around him. 

"Do you prefer to give or receive?" Tahmoh asks when he pulls away, his mouth still so close that every word is a breath that goes directly into Jared's mouth, as if he is swallowing the words. 

"Don't care," Jared says. 

"Me neither," Tahmoh says and moves down to kiss Jared's neck.

#

It's not the most opportune time, with Tahmoh laying across him, inside him, for certain thoughts to turn up, but there they are. Rob telling him he can't feel anything and him finding nothing wrong with it, and that is wrong, so absolutely wrong. His stomach clenches and he squeezes his eyes shut against what is coming too late. A gasp erupts from him and tears follow.

"Oh. I say," Tahmoh says, which is so English that Jared laughs, even as the tears come. 

"I'm fine, keep going. It's fine." 

Tahmoh stops, still inside him. "I don't know how Americans do it, mate, but we're not so into the weeping slap and tickle." He pulls out and Jared feels him sitting down. He rests his elbow on Jared's back. "Steady on, love. Everything's all right." 

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm...I'm not usually like this." 

"I'll get another drink, shall I?" Tahmoh is up before Jared can answer, but he moves unhurried to the door, as if emotion is no problem for him, as if a stranger weeping in his bed is something he has been trained, through an upbringing revolving around absolute normalcy, to handle with the same quiet dignity as everything else he encounters. 

"I'm sorry." Jared smiles as Tahmoh sits beside him. He holds his glass in one hand and supports it with a napkin in the other. He hasn't bothered with dressing, but Jared pulls the sheet over his lap, less ashamed of his nudity than his disinterested dick. They drink in silence. Jared focuses on the closet in front of him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Thank God."

Jared snaps out of whatever he's in and looks at Tahmoh. He can't help smiling. "I don't think that's the usual reaction."

"I'm English. We're not programmed for talking about things that aren't, you know, football. Even the queens among us."

Jared stretches towards him. "You know, for an English guy, your teeth are perfect." 

"Oh shut up before I fucking punch you, mate." 

Jared dissolves into giggles and Tahmoh falls against his neck, licking and kissing. "Fancy another round?" 

"I should get back. My, uh, will be wondering where I am. It's my turn for dinner." 

"Hate to tell you this, love, but your 'uh' has probably had his own dinner by now. It's past nine." 

"What? Oh, fuck." Jared gets out of bed and heads for his clothes. "Sorry. I have to go. I'm really sorry." 

"Don't be. And don't feel obligated to call, either." 

"Look. Tahmoh. I…" 

"I'm teasing. Get out of here." 

"Right. O.K. Yes." It's only after he leaves that Jared realizes Tahmoh’s accent was gone when he said good-bye. Was he faking being English? And I thought I was bad… This is a story for Rob… too bad they’ll have to get past the fact Jared fucked a guy again to get to it.

 

He drives his car back to the garage and then, because it is so late, takes a cab home, an unusual extravagance. He flips through his notes from the interview on the way, using a penlight to see until the driver flips on the overheads for him. 

"You don't have to if it distracts you." 

"It's fine," the driver says. 

Jared feels like he is on display, riding along with a spotlight over him, but he thinks about his father instead. His father had not been an expressive man, but he remembers being picked up and having his hand held and that the man never missed a soccer game or a glee concert. He hadn't even batted an eye when Jared came out, tearfully, during Christmas break his second year in college. Or, if he had, he'd done it where Jared couldn't see. Perhaps that was why he'd hugged Jared as long as he had, even after Jared had stopped crying. He'd treated the string of boyfriends that Jared trooped home like regular people, not like pariahs corrupting his youngest. He had taken it as his due, but now that he thought about it, none of those boys had been grilled or teased as Jensen's and Misha's girlfriends had been. It was pure politeness between his father and Jared's boyfriends. He feels doubt creeping in, that perhaps he was not as close to his father as he thought. Jared has never given it a thought, but his father was a gentleman, and that would dictate his actions, even if, especially if, he disapproved. 

He remembers Rob fussing over a tie to wear out to dinner with Jared's father and his step-mother a year into their relationship. "He doesn't care, he just wants to see us," Jared had said. And Rob had told him that it mattered, appearances did. Seemed that Jared was the only one who had not realized. When the cab stops, he hands a twenty over and does not wait for change. The air is cold and sharp as he fumbles for his keys. The elevator clanks down each floor. It is old and operated with a lever like the old fashioned voting machines. Jared slides the metal gate open when the carriage arrives, gets in, and latches the gate shut. Then he moves the lever to activate it and rides up, counting the floors as it passes, each number etched on the doorway with a metal cutter. He draws the lever back as he nears his floor and stops just even with it. He locks the lever into place, opens the gate, and gets out. He knows he should send it back down to the ground level. That would be the courteous thing to do, but he's too tired to risk the athleticism that would require him to leap out of the carriage before it moved too far away. It's not supposed to move with the gate open, anyway, but the thing is so old that sometimes it forgets and does anyway. 

There is a man who operates it during the day. At night, sometimes there is someone, and sometimes that someone is found sleeping in the supply closet off the mailroom. So, people take the elevator if it is there, or take the stairs if it is not. Those living on the upper floors have turned into veritable action heroes to avoid running up excessive flights. Jared has more than once been called upon to catch startled toddlers being tossed by their mothers out of the descending elevator before climbing out themselves. He closes the gate on the elevator and leaves it on his floor. He may be glad for it in the morning. He begins formulating his apology to Rob as he puts his key in the door. 

The door falls open unaided. "Where the hell have you been?" Jensen yanks him through, red-faced and shouting. 

"Interviewing the heiress. What are you doing here?" 

"I've been here all night with your boyfriend because he couldn't find you." 

"Well, why did he call you?" This is all he needs, Jensen yelling. Jared rubs his head, trying to wake himself up. 

Jensen drags him through into the kitchen. He freezes. Rob is sitting at the table with a compress pressed to his face. Jared pulls his hand back and reveals a long cut along Rob's eye and bruising around it. 

"He went out to find you and got assaulted." 

"Are you all right?" Jared kneels in front of Rob. 

"Of course he's not all right. Look at him." 

"I'm fine," Rob says. 

"Because you can't keep it in your pants," Jensen says. 

"I wasn't… I'm so sorry." 

"I was trying to find you." 

"Rob… Have you been to the hospital?" 

"Jensen made me." 

"Good. Thank you." 

Jensen snorts. "You're not even going to shout at him? You're not angry at all?" 

Rob shrugs. "Why should I be angry?" 

Jared drops his head against Rob's knee. He feels as if Rob has stabbed him. 

"Right," Jensen says. "Why should you? I'll leave you guys to it. If you want to file a report, let me know." 

"Yeah." 

Jared can feel Jensen's glare against his back, and then the retreating steps and the door opening and closing. He's not sure how he feels that Jensen and Rob seem to have bonded. He runs after him into the hallway.

"Wait. Does he have a concussion? Should I keep him awake or anything?"

Jensen turns and addresses him from the elevator bank. "He's just banged up. He's fine."

"O.K. Jensen, thanks for being here."

"Yeah." Jensen turns around and makes it clear that from his end the conversation is over. Jared goes back inside. Rob has made his way into the living room and is standing behind the couch, one steadying hand on it, and the other holding the ice pack to his head. Jared takes his arm. 

"Come on. Let's get you to bed." He starts maneuvering Rob into the bedroom. He tries to help Rob with his clothes, but Rob brushes him off and undresses himself. "We'll go away tomorrow if you're up for it. That bed and breakfast I told you about. Just you and me. Would you like that?" 

"It sounds nice. Can we go so soon? Don't they need some advance warning?"

"I'll call them right now."

"Jared, it's almost eleven."

"If they don't answer, I'll leave a message." 

Jared helps Rob up. 

"I can walk. I'm fine." 

"How many people was it?" 

"Two. I heard them following me, but I didn't think anything of it. Not until they grabbed me. I thought it was a regular gay bashing but…" 

"You're not…" Jared is going to say that Rob doesn’t meet most bigots’ perceptions of gay. 

"They said your name." 

"Oh. Did you tell Jensen?" He backs off a bit, feeling shame and fear at once. And, God help him, relief, like he’s missed a bullet once more. 

"Yes. He's adding it to whatever else you guys have figured out." 

"O.K. Good." 

"Let's go away, Jared. Just forget about everything for awhile, O.K.?" He crawls under the covers. Jared goes out to find the pamphlet with the number for the bed and breakfast. Someone answers. He has a short conversation with a woman named Alona, who tells him that they do have a room and that he and Rob will be met at the train station when they arrive. He thanks her. After a moment during which he puts the phone on the charger, Jared follows Rob into bed. He spoons up behind him, but when Rob winces, he pulls back. Rob scoots towards him and rests his head on Jared's chest. 

"O.K." Jared says. He combs Rob's hair with his fingers until Rob's breathing eases. He feels it, heavy and warm, blowing on his chest. Gradually, he eases himself free and gets up. He pulls the suitcase down from the top of the closet. He packs in the dark, figuring it won't matter what he throws in because all his clothes are coordinated and Rob could dress like a rainbow and not care. He zips up the suitcase and puts it beside the door. 

"Jared?" Rob's voice croaks forth. 

Jared slides back into bed. "Right here, babe. Go back to sleep." He strokes Rob's hair.

"Hmm." Rob, half-conscious, shimmies back onto him. Jared closes an arm over Rob's back and, when Rob does not wince, keeps it there. In the morning, in the light, he'll look Rob over for just how bad he's hurt. The bruises will have turned up by then. He picks up the ice and puts it against Rob's face. Rob twitches and he shushes him. Keep the swelling down, he thinks. He's fairly certain this is what one should do. He has no experience with getting beat up himself or witnessing his brothers' scuffles. Misha was too popular to worry about it, and Jensen rarely came limping home, though Jared knew that he had more than his share of fisticuffs. He thinks about getting up and finding a book or looking up what he should do on the internet. But Rob is holding onto him and it's comfortable and Rob seems fine, so he stays where he is.

** Chapter Seven **

In the morning, Rob is still alive and he can open both his eyes and Jared deems it a victory. He pulls Rob up into a kiss. It is short and fragile against bruised lips. He tugs Rob towards the bathroom. Rob watches with an amused smile as Jared turns the shower on.

"Are we going to shower together?"

"I thought…yes. If that's all right?"

"We haven't done that since we were dating."

"You wanted to see me naked."

"You were drunk and had vomited on yourself."

"Oh that's right. Now I remember. Get your ass in the shower."

Rob smiles. "You first."

Jared steps in and holds the curtain back for Rob. Jared looks him over. 

"You want me to spin around for you?"

"Yes. But carefully. Don't slip."

Rob rotates. Jared notes cuts on his back, surrounded by bruises, purple and blue, and on his stomach. He reaches out and traces his fingers over them as Rob turns. When he faces him again, Rob is hard. He glances at Jared and down. Jared goes to his knees, the water splashing over him, filling his ears, and Rob's cock in his mouth. He always feels like his jaw and throat know exactly how to open for Rob, no matter how much time has passed or how many people he's sucked in between times. Rob has his hands out, one on the wall; one on the curtain rod and Jared keeps his against his sides until one sneaks down to his own erection, grips and pulls. 

Jared shampoos Rob's hair, turning him to face away and tilting his head backwards to sweep the suds into the water. Rob tries to protest, but Jared pushes him around.

"Just stand there and let yourself be spoiled."

"Fine." But he is smiling and when he reaches up, it is to cover Jared's hands, not push them away.

They get out, wrapped in towels, and move into the bedroom to dress.

"We can get a train upstate from Upton Central. We could be at the B&B in time for lunch."

"I can't believe we're actually going."

"I called them last night. They're even sending someone to pick us up at the station."

"We need to pack."

Jared points at the suitcase. "Taken care of."

"When did you do that?"

"Last night."

"You packed in the dark?"

"Yes."

"I am impressed."

"Wait until you open it."

"Why? What's in it?"

"I have no idea. I packed in the dark."

"Smart ass."

They are on the way out, loaded down suitcase and a bag of books when the house phone rings. "Do you want to get that?" 

"No." 

Jared's phone follows as soon as the house phone stops. He takes it out of his pocket and throws it on the couch. 

"Jared, that could be important." 

"We're focusing on you right now. Everything else can wait." He ushers Rob out the door and locks it. 

They take a cab to the train station. "Why aren't we taking your car up there?" Rob asks.

"I like trains. Thought it could be nice. Something different."

"Yeah." Rob sounds tense and Jared tries to remember if Rob has a train phobia. He decides that Rob doesn't. He doesn't know what is bothering him and decides that nothing is. Rob seems to perk up when they reach the station. He walks with his usual long stride towards the ticket window as Jared follows with the suitcase. They buy a ticket and head for the platform where the train is already waiting. 

When they find a seat, Jared eases his hand into Rob's. Rob's fingers are limp, and Jared follows Rob's gaze to the seat across the aisle where a man is sleeping with a newspaper open over his chest. "You all right?" 

"Yes. Fine." Rob watches the man, as if he is waiting for the man to leap up and attack him. 

"Do you remember when we met?" Jared says, trying to tug Rob's mind away from the man, and away from the men he is actually thinking about. 

"I remember." 

"I watched you all evening." 

"That's because I was the only boy who didn't fall into your pants the moment you winked. Probably still am the only one." 

"I knew I loved you from the moment I couldn't have you. I planned my move for an hour." 

"And then you spilled your wine on me. Ruined my favorite shirt." 

"Got you out of it. And you still wouldn't sleep with me. You just stood there, half-naked, teasing." 

"I believe you followed me into the laundry room and watched while I went through the cabinets looking for something clean." 

"You knew what you were doing." 

"It was my favorite shirt." 

"I got you a new one. Looks the same. Exactly." 

"Yes, you did." 

Jared had been surprised when he found out that Rob was younger, by a full year and eleven months. From the start, Rob was the mature one in the relationship, keeping his head while Jared flitted off about anything. Jared had lived in the apartment for years, but it had been Rob who made into a home—their home, livable, presentable, and, for the first time, comfortable. 

"Does it hurt?"

"What?"

"Your head."

"It's not throbbing so much anymore."

"If you want to sleep, I'll keep an eye out."

"Yes. That would be good."

Rob closes his eyes and Jared pulls Rob's hand into his lap and holds it in both of his own. The man across from them stirs and the paper on him rustles. Jared's hand tightens on Rob's, as if he is also expecting the man to make a move. He glances around the carriage. It is nearly empty. There is a woman and a small child, two businessmen talking quietly, and a teenage boy. The boy looks up from his handheld video game and meets his eye, but no, a false connection. The boy is looking past him to the sign for the bathroom. He gets up and walks past Jared on his way to it, looking this time, no question about it. Jared watches as the boy closes the door behind himself. He knows what he would normally do. But now is not normally. Now is Rob, scared senseless, and hurt, because of what he would normally do. He tucks his chin over Rob's head and watches the terrain pass. When the boy walks past him again, Jared keeps his face turned away, so the kid will know what is important to him. He hears the boy take his seat and feels an unfamiliar lightness as Rob, inhibition lost in sleep, curls into him.

They get off the train, somewhere upstate a million trees past where they started. Jared lends Rob a hand getting down to the platform, uncertain if sleepiness or pain is making him woozy. Immediately, a young man in a dark t-shirt and darker curls approaches. He has a set of car keys in one hand. The other is extended towards Jared. 

"I'm Matt. My mom runs the B&B. I've got the car to take you guys out. How are you? How was the trip?"

Rob glances at Jared as if to say, 'are we that obvious?'

Matt, seeing this, says, "I knew everyone else getting off the train. Small town, you know."

"Oh. Right." Jared allows Matt to remove his suitcase from his hand. He picks it up and they follow him into the parking lot.

"It's about fifteen minutes from here, so just settle back. You had a nice trip?"

"Yes, it was pleasant."

"Good. Good." Matt nods as if he is thinking up something else to say. He turns around as he speaks, moving the wheel with the motion, and more than once Jared is tempted to put his hand on the wheel to steady the car. "Something you should probably know."

"Yes?" Jared braces himself to be told that queers aren't welcome and he and Rob would be best advised to take a low profile. They spend a weekend as 'cousins' once, to avoid getting their heads bashed in. Too late for that now, too late for Rob. Jared made it clear when he booked exactly what their relationship was. "Go on."

"Some of our guests…well, they're not really guests…"

"What about them?"

"They role-play. Sherlock Holmes."

"What?"

"They're set up in the lounge. We all love them—think they're great. But, you know, just wanted to tell you so you aren't thrown if someone with a really bad British accent and comes up and starts peering at you with a magnifying glass."

"Well. I appreciate that."

Jared sits back, uncertain how to take this unanticipated news. Worlds better than what he had expected. Rob ruffles his head, evidently feeling the same. 

If the photography in some pamphlets oversold their topics, the opposite was in effect at the Pleasant Place B&B. The photos had not captured the sounds of birds singing in the trees, nor the gentle breeze wafting through the leaves of the many trees that surrounded the triple-story Markian home. The house itself appeared, on the outside, bright and cheerful with white shutters flung open and windows wide to greet the day. A porch wrapped around it from the front door to halfway around the back of the house with a swing on the far end. Matt parks beside it, and Jared responds to Rob's nudging to see him pointing at a gaggle of baby chicks. He smiles and makes a note to look up whether or not what he is looking at is actually called a gaggle. 

"Told you they had birds roaming free," he says. 

Matt looks over from where he is emptying their suitcase from the back. "Cows, too. Across the road there in the field. In the morning they'll come up to the window."

In tandem, Jared and Rob turn to look. Two cows stare lazily at the house, as if deciding to come investigate the newcomers.

"It's exactly like that documentary we saw about the English people who live with giraffes, except with cows," Rob says.

He and Jared had been fascinated by that documentary.

Nor, too, does the pamphlet accurately portray the well-bosomed older woman bouncing daintily down the front porch towards them. "Hi Mom," Matt says. "I got them all right."

She comes forward. Jared extends a hand, but the woman grabs him in a hug. Stunned for a moment, he hugs back, grinning awkwardly at Rob, who is all but openly laughing at him. 

"You must be Jensen's brother. I'm Loretta. It's so wonderful to have you here." She releases him and holds him at arm’s length. He feels as if a favored aunt is examining him. It is not an uncomfortable feeling, given the warmth in her eyes.

"How did you know I was Jensen's brother? Why not him?" He smiles, teasingly.

"You have the same frown. I had to look at that ugly mug for nearly twenty years. I'm glad to say you're better looking than your brother."

"Oh, you've won him over for life," Rob says, no longer holding back his laughter.

"This is my partner, Rob," Jared says. He waits for her reaction, having used the word 'partner' with its implied ambiguities on purpose.

"Welcome, dear. How long have you boys been together?" Loretta gives Rob a hug, too. Jared smiles. She got it right. He wonders if Jensen has told her about his queer brother or if she simply put two and two together when he made the reservation, solidified by the fact of the single suitcase.

"Three years. This is our anniversary trip," Rob says.

"That's wonderful."

She rubs his arms vigorously as she steps back. Jared sees a flash of pain in Rob's face and is about to step in, but she notices too. "Oh. Oh my. You've been worked over haven't you, son? Nasty city you boys are living in. There's none of that here, I'm glad to say. You will have a wonderful, relaxing weekend."

"That's what we need," Jared says.

"Let's get you started. I've had you standing outside far too long. Come on, dears. Matt will take your things up to your room. We don't allow worries here."

"None that aren't soufflé-related, anyway," Matt says. He ducks as Loretta snaps the tea towel at him. "Sorry, mom."

She turns back to Jared and Rob, head shaking. "It is the one thing I haven't been able to master."

"Rob makes a wonderful soufflé."

"Do you, dear?"

Rob glances at Jared. "I've been told so."

"Well, no pressure, but if you find yourself with some downtime, perhaps you could lend an old woman a hand."

"I'd be happy to. Is she around?"

"What? Oh…" Loretta laughs and wags her finger at him. "A charmer. Must watch out for the likes of you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Madam?" A young man in tweed comes rushing forward with a newspaper held out in front of him. Jared flinches, instantly fearing that the news has preceded him, that somehow his brethren have found out about the details of his family's connection to Sterling's disappearance. But the man begins talking rapidly to Loretta about nonsense until Jared realizes the paper he holds is a replica of one from one hundred years ago and the topic of discussion is a puzzler that the young man claims has a faulty solution.

"Nothing I can do about it, Ed," Loretta says, patting him on the arm. "Why don't you try a different one." The young man slinks off, downcast. She turns back to them.

"Was that one of the Sherlockians?" Jared asks.

"Watsonians. They've lost their Sherlock, I'm afraid." She keeps her voice low, but a groan arises from the vicinity of the sitting room nonetheless where three heads are visible over the top of the couch. "Took off to Tucson," Loretta says, even quieter. "Now. Upstairs with you both. Dinner is at seven. Take your time settling in. There's a pool in the back. It's not much, but it's there."

"We saw the cows and chickens. Do they just live wherever they settle?" Jared asks.

"Oh, here and about. They have a coop, but they aren't fenced in. But don't worry—the pool is, so you won't have any feathered swim-mates."

"You guys coming up?" Matt shouts down. They look at Loretta, who steps aside and gestures them forward.

"On you go. Come back down when you're settled and I'll get you some lunch and introduce you around."

"Thank you," they say as they pass. The room is cozy, in the cozy-sense, not in the euphemism used in classified ads to describe something closet-sized. There is a double-sized bed, two chairs around a small table, period-appropriate reading lamps, and a fireplace.

"Does that work?" Jared asks, pointing at it.

Matt sticks his head in it. "I can't tell if the flue is open or not. Probably best not to try it."

"Damn."

"I'll send Alona up to look at it. She's our handywoman."

"We don't need a fire," Rob says.

"Everyone needs a fire on their anniversary. I don't think she's doing anything, except maybe annoying mom in the kitchen. I'll have her come up." Matt darts out of the room and soon they hear him bounding down the stairs.

"He's cute," Jared says. Rob glares at him.

"Oh come on. You were thinking it, too."

"Jared, if you try anything with him…"

"I won't. I'm just trying to act like things are normal."

"They aren't."

"I know, babe." He goes to Rob and kisses him. He cups the back of Rob's head, drawing him closer without pressure. Rob's lips are pliable and soft. Jared closes his eyes, inhaling his coffee-breath.

"Excuse me?" They pull apart, Rob smoothing his shirt down and blushing furiously, as if he has been caught at school. A young woman stands in the doorway grinning at them. She has denim overalls on and bright pink t-shirt beneath them. A hammer hangs off the hook on her overalls next to a tool belt that holds a screwdriver and a pair of pliers. 

"I'm Alona. Matt said you guys were wondering about the fireplace." 

"We were curious about whether or not we could use it."

"We don't, usually. Too much risk of a fire hazard in this old house, you know. Do you mind if I look at it?"

"No."

She comes into the room and is soon on her knees with her head stuck up the fireplace. She comes out, her face as sparkling as when it went in. "Sorry, guys, the flue is shut. This is one clean fireplace. You'll just have to imagine yourselves sitting by a roaring fire." 

"All right."

"You know, my idea of a romantic night in is a swim and then curling up under a warm blanket. You can manage that easily enough here. The weather has been lovely for swimming these past few nights."

Jared thinks of his packing frenzy. "I don't know that I packed our suits."

"If you head out around one in the morning, everyone will be asleep. Just follow the path out the back. The moon lights it well enough. You won't get lost and it's far enough away from the house that no one will see you."

"This is the first time we've ever had a vacation where our host told us how to skinny-dip."

"We're easy up north." She grins and takes her leave.

"Not that easy, I hope," Rob says.

"Stop being a grouch."

"I am not being a grouch."

Jared tosses the suitcase onto the bed and opens it. "Are you in pain at all? I haven't asked since we got here. Do you need an aspirin?"

"One wouldn't go amiss." Rob sits down in one of the chairs. Jared finds a bottle and doles out two pills. He pours a glass of water from a pitcher on the nightstand and hands them to Rob. 

"Thanks." Rob swallows them. "I can't believe we're actually here. You actually left Upton."

"Believe it, sweetheart." But he is thinking, the things I do for you to show you that I'm sorry and an idiot and I love you. "I actually left Upton."

"I love you, too," Rob says, and Jared smiles because Rob can always read his mind.

They unpack and go down for lunch even though it is almost two o'clock. Loretta sits them down in the small dining room and presents them with buttered toast and fresh greens. A plate of ravioli follows, topped with a spritzing of olive oil. Jared cuts into it with his fork. A light orange paste bursts around the tongs. He looks at Rob. 

"Butternut squash," Rob says. "Fantastic." 

"Everything is fresh and made from either God or scratch," Loretta says.

"Sometimes it's difficult to tell the difference," Alona says. She has come out of the kitchen with Loretta carrying two large glasses of water, which she sets in front of them. "Bon appètit." 

"Thank you. It looks amazing," Rob says.

"He'll be in the kitchen asking for all your secrets," Jared says. "This is right up his alley."

"You'd better be in there showing me what I'm doing wrong with my soufflè."

"My God, could the solution be near at hand?" Alona turns to Loretta, mouth agape. "Can it be?" She squeezes Loretta's arm. Loretta pats her hand. Jared thinks he catches a slight blush rising in Loretta's cheeks. 

"Do you still keep in touch with Jensen?" he asks.

"Oh, here and there. I don't keep in touch with many of them since moving up here. It's difficult, you know, for some of them to pick up a pen and write a letter. I purposely decided against having the internet up here. Reminds me too much of work."

Jared and Rob nod. They can both relate to that and to the tether the internet ties its user up with. 

"I was always fond of your brother. I knew him from the first second he set foot in the station, saw him rise up through the ranks. An incorrigible flirt."

"That runs in the family," Rob says.

"I imagine it does. Is Jensen still chasing after twenty-year-olds?"

"He is."

"He always had an eye for them, even when he was married. I told him he needed an older woman."

"Like you?" Alona says, smiling.

"I could be his mother. I just meant someone his own age."

"We tell him the same thing," Jared says.

"Yeah, but you can't make someone commit if he doesn't want to," Rob says. Jared goes cold, but everyone is smiling and nodding and even Rob is acting like the statement is not a barb directed at him. 

"Did he ever talk about me?" Jared asks.

"He did. He talked about you and your brother. And sometimes you," she said, nodding at Rob. 

"I don't want to think what he said about me," Jared says.

"Nothing bad, I assure you. Your brother is a perfect gentleman."

"Are you sure we're talking about the same guy?"

She chuckles. "I am. Well, we've got work to do. Now, don't be shy about the layabouts, I say fondly, in the sitting room. They're a harmless bunch. They lost their normal meeting place and came here. And I've come to like having them around."

"We'll say hello later on."

"Good. We like for everyone to get along here."

"I feel at home already," Rob says.

"That's mom's goal." Matt appears from somewhere, pulling a bag behind him.

"Oh, Matt. Laundry?" 

"I'll do it myself. Don't worry about it, mom." He grins at Loretta and Alona. Alona grins back as Loretta shakes her head. She scurries off into the kitchen as something starts to buzz.

"You really have to help her with that soufflé. She's almost burned the kitchen down three times. The Watsonians are on standby with the fire extinguisher."

On cue, one of them comes racing in with the extinguisher held out. "Madam, I am at your service," he says.

"It's all right, Harry. It's just the timer."

"Oh." He lets the machine drop, looking vastly relieved. "Good. I don't have a clue how to use this thing, you know." 

Alona shakes her head. "Come on. I'll show you in the back yard." She holds the door open for him and they go out.

"Alone at last," Jared says. He touches Rob's hand. Rob turns his palm upwards so they are holding hands. 

"What will we do? Just the two of us. We could get up to all sorts of trouble."

"So long as I'm in trouble with you, I won't mind." Jared grins over the sappiness of it all, but Rob is smiling, too.

"I do love you, you know," Jared says.

"I know." This time, there is no question or uncertainty in Rob's answer. It is a simple statement of belief. Jared pushes the pang of guilt down over what happened to Rob while Jared was out too late, forgetting about the time, and about his obligations to the lovely man who should have been waiting for him at home, but who, instead, was getting the shit kicked out of him by thugs because he was sick of Jared putting himself first and went out to do something about it. 

"Such is my love, to thee I so belong, that for thy right myself will bear all wrong," he says, quoting a favored sonnet that feels opportunely appropriate.

"Come here." Rob leans forward and they kiss over the table. A tidal wave of 'ooh' arises from the sitting room. They turn and wave at the Watsonians, who are watching. "You don't have to bear all wrong for me, Jared. Just most of it."

"Thanks." Jared rolls his eyes. "That's very big of you."

"I'll ignore the obvious sexual pun."

"Yeah, that's more my thing."

"I thought so, too. It's good we still have our roles in place after all this time."

"Some roles, at least. Others, we can change."

"Such as?"

A sharp scream distracts them. They turn to the window and see Harry being propelled backwards by the force of the extinguisher's spray as if he is holding a rocket pack. Alona runs along behind trying to catch his shoulders and stop him from emptying the can.

"This place is fantastic," Rob says.

"I couldn't agree more." He raises his glass. "To us."

"To us."

They spend the day walking hand in hand around the grounds, though Jared isn't sure if 'grounds' is the right word. There is a lot about country terminology that he does not know, and he hopes that he will remember to find out the proper words for the trees and the green tart-smelling balls that fall from them to lie around the base. Or the birds that sing to each other. He freezes when a cow comes up to him and Rob laughs, allowing himself to be nuzzled. Jared pats its back, keeping well away from the head in case the large-eyed animal turns out to bite. 

In the evening, they move to the sitting room after dinner in response to Thomas's invitation to play a game of Scrabble. Jared settles back, prepared to be soundly beaten as usual, but delighting in the prospect of once again watching Rob trounce everyone playing. The Watsonians prove to be suitable competitors, and Rob clearly revels in the challenge. As the game goes on, Jared moves over to the piano and sits on the bench. He faces away from the instrument, flipping through a book of music that sits on it.

"Do you play?" Alona asks.

"I'm sure I did once."

She pulls the book out of his hands and turns to a certain page. "I did once, too. You take the right hand part."

She turns and puts her hands into position before he can protest. She begins and all he can do is follow her lead. The movements return to him easily. He has not played in years, but he was decent, once. He has not had steady access to a piano since he moved out of his childhood home.

"You're not bad," Alona says.

"You were obviously lying about being out of practice."

"Maybe." She grins. "No one else here plays. I'm always looking for someone to tickle the ivories with."

He wonders if she is speaking in euphemism, but her smile is innocent and when she looks over Jared's shoulder it becomes wider still. He turns and sees Matt and Loretta entering. Loretta carries a tray of cookies. It is, Jared thinks, like Christmas. The only thing she is missing is a lace bonnet to make her look like the old drawings of Mrs. Claus. Matt comes behind her, an elf bearing warm beverages. 

"You two be sure to play something nice for me," Loretta says when she comes over. Jared picks up a cookie that smells like ginger. He bites it and decides that it is ginger. He has learned a great deal about identifying tastes since meeting Rob. 

"We will," Alona says. Then Matt sets two mugs on the edge of the piano. Jared sips carefully. The piping hot liquid is apple cider with the perfect combination of cinnamon. He looks at Rob, who is sipping with his eyes closed, looking positively orgasmic. 

"I guess it's obvious how to win his heart," Alona says

"And I'm a terrible cook," Jared says. "He won't let me near the kitchen. If Loretta keeps up with the food, I'm afraid he may choose to stay behind."

"Why do you think they're still here?" Alona waves at the Watsonians. "It's not for the central heating."

Jared looks at her blankly.

"That's a joke."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I don't really understand house humor."

"It's O.K. Let's try this one." She shows him another page in the music book. He turns to the keys, straightens his back, and lets his fingers fall into position. They play through the end of the Scrabble game, which Rob wins, but the score is close and the second place holder calls for a rematch. Rob promises one the next night. People begin moving towards the door. 

"Where are they going?" Jared asks.

"Oh, they don't live here. They just eat the food and use the couch," Alona says.

"And solve crimes," one of them adds.

"Yes, on occasion." Alona smiles.

Jared gets up. "I think we'll head up."

"Goodnight. Thanks for playing with me."

"You're welcome." He wiggles his fingers. They are aching, unused to the exercise. 

"You want a piano now, don't you?" Rob says as they move up the stairs.

"Kind of, yes."

"I think we could manage that." He opens the door to their room and switches the light on. The water pitcher is full again. Jared sits on the bed and takes his shoes off. 

"I think Alona is with Loretta," Rob says.

"Do you really think so? I thought she was with Matt. Are you sure you're not stereotyping? A woman with a tool belt…"

"No. He's not with anybody. Come on. He doesn't even tuck his shirt in."

"Jensen tells me that straight women like that sort of thing."

"No. Matt's on his own."

"Poor guy."

"Don't get any ideas."

"I'm insulted you would even suggest it. On our anniversary trip of all times."

"Yeah." 

"Do you want to go swimming?"

"We've just had hot cider. I'm not a polar bear."

"Alona says it's heated. Come on. Please? I've never been swimming at night."

"All right, but not until we're sure everyone is sleeping." Rob's voice is low, but excited, as if he has just agreed to play hooky from class, something Jared is almost positive Rob has never done. 

They wait an hour, occupying the time with one of the books from Rob's bag, which he reads aloud as Jared curls on the bed, listening. When the house is quiet except for the night noises, which Rob assures Jared are normal for an old home and not ghosts, they walk quietly down the stairs, shoes in hand. At the back door, they slip them on and go out to follow the path, as Alona told them. They find the pool a five-minute walk away, though it would have been two minutes in daylight when they weren't worried about veering off or stepping on a sleeping hen. They hold hands and it does feel like they are doing something horribly mischievous. Jared undoes the clasp on the gate when they reach the pool. They undress quickly, quietly, dropping their clothes on separate deckchairs. They leave their boxers on, perhaps from a mutual concern that someone is watching, even if it is only the cows.

The water is crisp when Jared steps into the pool. Rob follows, sliding in soundlessly as he looks over his shoulder. "I don't think middle of the night swimming is allowed. There are signs…" He is whispering, but with nothing to stop the sound—nothing but sky around them and the farmhouse nearby—his voice carries. Jared presses his hand over Rob's mouth. 

"Alona said it was fine. And I didn’t have swimming in mind." His other hand snakes down to between Rob's legs. They part for him. He goes up the shorts from the bottom, sliding along that smooth thigh until he is cupping Rob's balls. He rolls them carefully in his hand, testing their weight beneath the water. Rob's elbows are propped on the side of the pool and he lets them support his weight. Jared pulls Rob's shorts off. In the privacy of the water, no one can see. They sink to the darkness of the bottom of the pool. 

A tug on Rob's legs, and Jared has them over his shoulders. He lets the weight push him to his knees beneath the surface. Rob's hands are under, too, touching his hair. Rob's cock bounces softly, buoyed by the water and Jared's shifting hand. Jared emerges and kisses Rob, folding his legs up between their chests. Rob grips his neck, but Jared pushes away, smiles, takes a breath, and goes under. He takes Rob's cock into his mouth. Water rushes around his ears. He hollows his cheeks and tries to avoid inhaling any water into his mouth and nose. He sucks, tasting chlorine more than cock. 

He is about to come up for air when Rob begins to move. His hips buck gently as he fucks Jared's face. Jared reaches up and hooks his arms around Rob's thighs. They barricade him on either side of his head. Jared straightens his legs, pushing his head and shoulders above the water. His mouth is still on Rob's cock. Rob is still thrusting, his weight fully on his elbows and on Jared's shoulders. 

"We shouldn't…be doing this. Anyone could come—" 

"I'm only interested in one person coming. Maybe two." Jared lifts off just long enough answer. Above the water, Rob's cock still tastes chlorine-clean. He closes his lips around it, inhales to the base, and sinks to his knees. Rob stops thrusting, and Jared keeps the suction tight. He moves his tongue as best he can, but his cheeks do most of the work, hollowing and expanding. The head of Rob's cock twitches against the back of Jared's throat. He moves back, only an inch, not allowing any release in pressure. It's enough. 

The cock jerks; Rob's thighs squeeze Jared's ears. Rob's come hits his throat, going over and past the tongue. Jared starts to swallow, pushing above the water as he does so he can take in air, his mouth working furiously on the half-spent cock inside it. Rob has thrown his head back. His eyes are closed. Jared watches him. Small whimpers escape Rob as Jared continues to suck his now sensitive cock. It has gone limp as a sponge, but he keeps at it, determined to bring it to life again. 

"Fuck, Jared," Rob says. "You should have seen yourself. Fuck. You look so fucking debauched with my cock in your mouth." His words trail off. He moves one leg so the foot is against Jared's shoulder. His knee is bent and he pushes until it straightens and Jared is pushed off his cock. 

"What?" Jared asks. 

Rob lifts himself out of the water and sits on the pool's edge. Jared nestles against his thigh. 

"What's wrong?" 

Rob rests his hand on Jared's hair. "We can't do this." 

"No one's going to catch us, babe. They're all asleep. Or having sex in their rooms." 

"How many guys have you done this with?" 

"This particular thing? No one." 

"Where'd you learn it from?" 

"You're not getting jealous now, are you? We can see the moon. You can't get jealous on such a beautiful night." 

"It was the way you looked when you came up, just now. Debauched. And I almost—I was about to call you a whore. My beautiful whore." 

"Maybe I am." Here it comes, the response that Rob has been bottling up since he was attacked, the telling off that Jared has waited for. A part of him collapses. 

"I would never say that to you." 

"I don't mind. If it turns you on---" 

"It doesn't." He gets up. For a moment, he stands, dripping on the asphalt and naked. In the moonlight, he looks like a thin, bluish statue. "Would you hand me my shorts, please?" 

Jared catches them with his toes and lifts them up to his hand. He tosses the shorts out. Rob catches them. He pulls them on. 

"Rob," Jared says. He looks up from inside the pool as Rob pulls his shirt on. "I'm not a whore." 

"No. You're just a guy who can't stop himself from sucking every cock he sees. Sometimes I want to…" 

"What?" 

"I don't know. I love you, Jared." He starts to walk away. Jared has never heard him sound so defeated.

"Rob, wait." Jared pushes out of the water, grabs his clothes, and follows. 

They reach the house in half the time it took them to reach the pool. Rob stumbles off the path a few times and shoves off Jared's attempts to help him. Jared is relieved when Rob does not slam the door on the house. They go in silence up the stairs. Jared tosses their soaked underwear into the tub. He puts their clothes on the dresser. Rob puts his pajamas on, so Jared follows his lead and dresses, too. Then Rob sits on the bed and stares at his hands. Jared stands in between the bed and the chair, uncertain what he is supposed to do. This is a different kind of mad. He needs a signal, something to respond to. He notices an electric tea kettle and goes to turn it on. He watches the water begin to bubble. He sets mugs out with a tea bag in each. He pours water in and returns to the center of the room. 

"I wanted to flip you onto your knees and shove my dick up your ass," Rob says. These are not words he says, ever, and they feel cruel and desperate. Jared wants to go to him, to sweep his wet hair off his forehead, but he stands where he is.

"So do it." 

"What?" 

"Fuck me. Like you want to. You don't have to be afraid of it, Rob. I'm…I'm yours. If you want to throw me to the floor and ravage me, I'm kind of more than o.k. with that." Part of him is sick of sleeping around and that part joins up with the bit that isn't, that bit that needs sex and is more than a little excited at the prospect of his lover taking him exactly as he describes.

"You are?" 

"If you can't let go of a little of that repression with me, then who can you let it go with?" 

"You're not a piece of meat." 

"I know that. But that doesn't mean I'll object if you tenderize my ass once in a while." 

Rob cracks a smile. "You just said that. You really just said that." 

"So I did. So, are you going to fuck me into the floor or what?" 

"Bring the tea." 

Jared picks up the mugs and carries them to the bed. "So, hot drinks and bedtime, is it?" 

"I think we should…I think should we ease off." 

"What does that mean?" 

"Maybe I should move out." 

"You just said you want me to be your whore, and your solution, rather than fucking me, is to dump me?" His heart is stopping. It is cold and dead. He can't breathe. Rob always understood. He has abused this understanding, he realizes, mistaken it for something it was not. 

"I don't think I can stop myself from being jealous anymore. I don't want to share you, and I haven't been o.k. with it for a long time, but I thought it was the only way I could keep you. But it's not fair to either of us," Rob says. 

"And it never occurred to you to say anything?" 

"Of course it occurred to me." 

"But?" 

Jared leans into Rob's touch on his hair. It's the only answer he'll get. Jared stands. He sets his tea on the nightstand and begins stripping off his clothes until he is naked beside the bed. 

"What are you doing?" Rob asks. Jared kneels in front of him. "I'm not in the mood for a blowjob, Jared." 

Jared stays quiet, though it is hard. He reaches behind himself and unhooks the chain around his neck. He slides the ring off it. It glints in the moonlight coming through the window. He sets the medallion and chain beside his tea. 

"And if I mean it when I say I'm yours? Will you stay? Because I swear to God, Rob, there is no one but you. You are my sanity and my life. You keep me together. You're the reason I come home at night and the reason I get up in the morning. If I had to choose between one thousand men at any time and you all the time, I would choose you." 

"It's not a hypothetical, Jared. You do have to choose." 

Jared holds his left hand up and slides the ring onto it, his eyes locked on Rob's all the while. "Decision made. If you'll have me." 

"I will." 

Jared starts to get up, but finds he cannot move although he feels lighter than he ever has, but heavier, too, as if the moment has split him in two. Rob drops to his knees, reaching for him. They embrace. For the longest time there is only this—not lust-filled kissing or fucking but tenderness, something, Jared thinks, that has been too rare between them. He's always in too much of a hurry for it. No time for him to stay in his lover's arms. Rob is shaking and Jared kisses his cheek where tears have started to fall. He'll make time for it now. The heaviness is lifting, leaving the way clear for happiness. He clutches Rob as his own tears start. 

"I love you, you know. Always have." 

Rob holds him tighter until he feels his ribs will break from the pressure. He knows Rob won't say anything, but he's never been much for words where feelings are concerned. Jared leans back. The look in Rob's eyes is answer enough. Jared comes forward again and kisses him. Rob's mouth parts easily, already anticipating Jared's tongue. He obliges, hand behind Rob's head to pull him closer. He tastes the salt of Rob's tears, which have traveled as far as his lips. 

"Why am I the only one naked in here?" He tugs Rob's shirt upwards. Rob lifts his arms and the shirt goes up and off. He reaches between Jared's legs. Jared feels him prodding against his ass, and he spreads his knees to rise up and allow Rob the leverage he needs to angle his fingers appropriately. Once it's right, Jared sinks down until Rob's middle finger is completely inside him. "God," he says, the word a sound forced out of him when the finger hits the perfect spot and he twitches, wanting more, wanting Rob's mouth on him, wanting Rob's cock in him, but Rob is still frustratingly wearing pants. Just as Jared is going to protest those pants, Rob moves so his knee is beneath Jared, causing him to rub against the flannel each time he rises and sinks on the fingers. Two now, Rob adding the forefinger during his adjustment. 

"Lay back," Rob says, and moves with him as Jared obeys. He keeps his fingers inside him until the last possible moment. Jared gasps when Rob removes them. "Rob—" 

His hips are grabbed, feet thrown towards his head, and he is pulled onto Rob's lap, ass upturned. Realistically, it’s more like Rob hints at the positions he wants Jared in and Jared responds, but he feels better pretending that Rob is doing all the work, controlling him. 

"Please," Jared says, trying to wriggle in his awkward angle. Rob grabs Jared's cock, giving him another reason to wriggle. His grip is strong, though his hands are soft. He fists Jared's cock. Jared tries to buck into the movement, but Rob has his elbows on his thighs, pressure that Jared refashions into an order and holds him in place. 

"Put your hands over your head and hold your wrists." 

Jared does and finds that it forces him to lie flat. He feels Rob blowing on his opening. His breath is warm and cold at once, and Rob follows with his tongue, licking and probing as Jared's mouth falls open and he loses all control of the sounds that emerge. 

Rob drags him, with Jared’s help, up to the bed, finally ditching his pajama pants. He turns Jared around and sinks into him. Their bodies match in perfect alignment. Rob reaches around and holds Jared's cock. They are connected. Jared drifts off as Rob breathes against his ear, shifting from time to time and softly fucking him.

In the morning, he is still in Rob's arms. "Is this because of our new commitment?"

"It's because I don't have to be up making breakfast." Rob taps his nose and groans at the ridiculousness of it. "Have you changed your mind? You've had all night to think it over."

"Can't. The ring's stuck on."

"That is a shame."

"I tried all night to get it off."

"I thought I heard you grunting."

Jared had worried that the new, official status would make him feel awkward, but things seem normal. Things seem new. He finds himself excited about the day, about spending it with Rob. He kisses him, close-mouthed to ward off the morning breath. Rob rolls out of bed and stumbles into the bathroom. Jared lays out on the bed, arms wide.

"If you've ever wanted to make love in a claw-foot bath, now's your chance," Rob says over the sound of water splashing ceramic. Jared smiles and answers the call.

The day is both the same and different. Nothing has changed, but Jared feels as if everything has. He feels both light and heavy, delighted and scared. "It's like we're on a honeymoon now," he says to Rob as he pulls the tomatoes out of his salad and passes them over to Rob's plate. 

"About time," Rob says. Jared's smile is automatic and natural. 

Rob figures out the secret of the soufflè, emerging from the kitchen with an enigmatic smile and calling to Loretta to keep the solution to herself.

In the evening, Rob wins Scrabble again, and Jared and Alona attempt a waltz on the piano. A female Watsonian has turned up, and she and Matt dance around the couches. When they leave in the morning, Jared is more in love with Rob than he has been with anyone, even Rob, up to that point. They take their time getting home. Neither one of them wants to get back to normal, to the distractions of their usual life. They go to a film. It is terrible. They don't mind. They eat dinner. Rob does not bat an eye when Jared hands over the credit card to cover the three hundred dollar bill. It must be love, Jared thinks.

They get home, toss their clothes into the laundry, and fall into bed, exhausted from their day of travel and their weekend of soul searching and loving. Jared feels as if he has been ripped apart and sewn back together. Rob no longer winces when Jared cuddles against him, but the cuts are still there, and the bruises, too, so Jared is careful when he rests his head on Rob's shoulder. When their fingers intertwine, their rings touch. They sleep like this.

** Chapter Eight **

At first, Jared tries to sleep through the phone ringing. But after the twelfth ring as the caller again hangs up in time to miss the answering machine before dialing again, and with Rob, who could sleep through a rocket launch, showing no signs of stirring, he decides that if he's going to get any sleep, he should answer the phone. He stretches across Rob's back to reach it and breaks into a grin as Sleeping Beauty lets out an annoyed groan that is more monster-learning-to-speak than human.

"Jensen?" Jared can go from zero to awake in nothing flat. No one would ever guess he was dead to the world seconds before. 

"You finally get caller ID?" 

"You're the only asshole rude enough to pretend I don't have an answering machine in the middle of the night. This going to be one of your drunken chats because I have to get up early in the morning…" 

"Do you want the bad news or the bad news?" Jensen's tires-on-gravel voice is pressed, no hint of the humor usually inherent in his tone. 

"What happened?" Rob groans and his back twitches, indicating that he wants Jared to stop laying on him. Jared ignores this and angles himself so that when he speaks the sound goes into Rob's ear. 

"Sterling turned up. He wandered into a gas station in Horace. He was naked and out of his head. Local police locked him up for a few days before they could figure out who he was and called us." 

"O.K. Has anyone talked to him?" 

"From the press? I imagine so. They’re lining up for it." 

"O.K. I'd better get over there. Where is he?" 

"He's in an undisclosed location, so it's probably been on the radio by now." 

"Where is he, Jensen?" 

"You didn't ask for the other news." 

"Fine. What is it?" 

"Misha's in the hospital." 

"What?" 

"He was beaten, and shot in the shoulder. Whoever did it dropped him off at Mercy. They have video of him being shoved out of a speeding car." 

Jared can't breathe. He punches Rob's shoulder until he turns over. He mouths at him to get dressed. 

"When?" 

"Saturday. We've been trying to reach you guys all weekend. Get your ass over here. He's on the seventh floor." 

"We'll be there in twenty minutes." 

"What is it?" Rob says. 

"Misha's in the hospital. Can we…" Jared suddenly doesn't know what to do. 

Rob takes the phone from him. "Get dressed. I'll make coffee." 

"No, it's fine, I…" 

"It's going to be a long day. Just do as you're told, all right?" 

Jared nods. Yes. He'll do as he's told. He goes to get his clothes and winds up in the kitchen a few moments later dressed and wondering how he got there. Rob sets the coffee down in front of him, and grabs his pliant arms and pulls them through his sleeves and twists the shirt around so it is facing the correct way. 

"He'll be all right," Rob says. He keeps saying this in the cab to the hospital. Jared wonders how he knows. He looks at Rob's bruises face and decides that it is from experience.

A man carrying an open notebook and a pencil races up to Jared at the hospital door. It is Stuart Langley, a reporter from a rival paper. Jared grabs Rob's arm and tries to hurry him past, but Stuart gets himself between Jared and the door. 

"Any comments, Jared?"

"On what?"

"Rumor has it Misha is in a coma. Can you confirm?"

"We're just going in to talk to him. You probably know more than I do at this point."

"You haven't been to see him, yet? Have you had a fight?" Stuart stands with his pen poised.

"No." Jared brushes past him, through the doors, dragging Rob behind.

"He'll write that you've had a fight," Rob says.

"That's not a big worry right now. Where's the elevator?"

Rob points at a sign. They head towards it. "Do you know what room he's in?"

"Yeah, Jensen said. Seventh floor."

When they get up there, they see Jack immediately. He is sitting on the floor pushing a small truck. "My daddy's hurt," he says from the floor when they reach him.

"I know sweetie. He's in here?" Jared points at the room. 

"Mommy is. Daddy is with the doctor."

"O.K." Jared stands up from the crouch he had assumed to talk to the boy. "Rachel?" He looks into the room and finds her folding Misha's clothes. She races over, arms out, and embraces him and Rob at the same time. 

"Thank God you guys are here. Where have you been?"

"We went out of town. We didn't have any cell phone reception."

"Or any cell phone," Rob says. "He left it behind in a brash moment of romantacism."

"Did you?"

"I did. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I don't know who…did this. My God. I could kill someone right now, Jared."

"What happened, exactly?"

"I don't know. He went to work and he didn't come home, and then I get a call from the hospital that he's there. The press knew before I did."

"Yeah, we ran into one at the door."

"What did he say?"

"He'd heard he was in a coma."

"The first night, they induced one. He's up now. He's going to be all right."

"Jack says he's with the doctor."

"Yeah. He's looking him over again. I asked him to run a few more tests."

"Tests?" Jared asks.

"You asked him to test him for STDs?"

Rachel looks at Rob. "Yes."

Jared feels as if he has been hit by a brick. "You don't think…?"

"I don't know what I think anymore, Jared. You should see how they've hurt my gorgeous man." Jared puts his hand on her elbow, but she waves her hand and he backs off. Rachel is not a woman who needs anyone's support. "He'll be fine."

"If there's anything we can do…"

"Just wait, I guess. Jensen's here, somewhere. You know he doesn't like to sit still."

"I know." They move into the hallway as if, now that Jared and Rob are there, Rachel cannot sit in the room without Misha. Jack carries on with his truck, vibrating the engine noise through his lips. 

Jensen returns like a hurricane coming through the hallway. His coat billows behind him as he stalks around the corner and Jared sees that he has a gun holstered beneath it. His badge is on his hip. This is his brother, the cop, as if that designation could ever be taken from him. Jensen stops in front of them, glaring from him to Rob, but Jared immediately understands that the glare is directed not at them but at the situation in general.

"I want you to watch the video, Rob," Jensen says.

"Why?" Rob looks up. Jared knows the last thing Rob will want is to witness violence. He has suffered enough on his own, he gets enough conflict from the library, a job not as quiet and calm as people think, not with censorship and banned books and privacy protections violated. 

"Got an idea. Do you mind?"

"No." It is clear that Rob does mind, but he, like Jared, trusts Jensen.

"Security is this way." They all get up and follow Jensen. Rachel carries Jack. 

"Is Jack going to watch?"

"Rachel, maybe you shouldn't come."

"I think I will. I'd like to see it."

"Then I'll get a nurse to watch Jack." 

"I'm sure the nurses have other things to do."

But Jensen is already walking towards one. She comes over immediately, nods at Rachel. Jared recognizes the look in her eyes, the mixture of charm and rank obedience that Jensen so often inspires. "Are you Jack? Do you want to sit here and play with me for a minute?"

Jack looks at Rachel.

"Mommy will be right back."

Jack stands there, and they start to move towards the security room.

Jack begins to wail.

In the end, they put Jack beneath the desk with the monitor on it and watch the video without sound. 

At first, the video shows the quiet façade of the hospital. Then, as if someone has yelled, "Action!", the glass doors slide open and a half dozen nurses come barreling through, their fat arms waving invisible rolling pins at an unseen entity. The nurses rush out of view and a moment later two men emerge onto the screen sprinting across the lot. There is a brief pause followed by a paramedic wheeling an empty stretcher out of the hospital to the place where the nurses have gone off camera. The video is silent, so there is no indication of what is happening. The glass doors close. They reflect an oak tree from across the parking lot. Its leaves rustle soundlessly. 

Misha's feet enter the screen, the red shoes poking out from a blanket. Velcro straps bind him to the stretcher. They bisect his ankles, waist, and torso and for a split second Jared thinks that if they were removed he would fall to pieces. One of his hands is palm up like he is checking for rain. His fingertips curl towards the sky. There is a patch of skin visible at his wrist, soft and vulnerable, and then the strap binding his arms to his waist. A nurse blocks his face, and the top of his head is barely able to be seen as the stretcher is raced into the building. 

Rachel rewinds the tape. No one stops her. They all watch it again. Door. Nurses. Teenagers. Stretcher. Tree. Misha. Something about his hand bothers Jared, but he can't place it. He rewinds. He can hear Jensen breathing. They watch it again. 'Something…something forgotten,' he thinks, and then he gets it. He remembers a marionette hurled against a wall by a screaming five year old, Misha's screaming five year old, and the doll, bouncing off the wall to land crumpled on the floor, its tiny plastic hands palm up as if begging a reprieve from its abuser. And then the doll is left, a tangle of black string and plastic. Utterly defenseless. He looks at Rachel to see if she is thinking the same. He can't tell what she is thinking.

Rachel stops the video. He forces the image of the marionette out of her head, but it replaces itself with one of Misha collapsed against the wall. He forces that one out, too.

"I know them," Rob says. Everyone turns to look at him. "They're the ones who attacked me."

Jensen nods and lets out a soft grunt of understanding. "That's what I thought."

"You did?" Rachel says.

"They work with Mark Pellegrino. This is good. This is a connection." He starts for the door. "I'll have them picked up. Give Misha my best when he comes around."

"We will." Rachel squeezes his arm as he passes. Jensen stops and gives her a short smile.

"We'll take care of it, Rachel. Don't worry."

She turns back to the screen and watches, again, her husband on the ground and the nurses running towards him. Rob pulls Jared into the hallway. He is shaking.

"They might have killed me."

Jared hugs him, and finds that he is shaking, too.

"Excuse me. Is Mrs. Padalecki in there?" Jared turns and notices a doctor coming towards him. He gives Jensen a wide berth as he passes, and Jared wonders what Jensen has done to terrify the man. 

"Yes," Jared says, stepping towards him. "Just watching the video. I'm Jared Padalecki."

"I'm Misha's attending, Dr. Maclean. Your brother is going to be fine. We're just keeping him for observation to make sure we haven't missed anything."

Rachel came out of the room with Jack at her side. "Hello, Doctor."

"Hello, Mrs. Padalecki. I was just coming to check on you."

"Did you do the tests?"

"I had a nurse draw blood for them, yes. Mrs. Padalecki, the press. They are becoming unruly."

"You can't have them go away?"

"I'm afraid not."

"You need to talk to them," Jared says. "They won't go away until you do. You don't have to give them everything. Just something. Go down and tell them that he was attacked by unknown assailants, but he is recovering."

"And if they ask who did it?"

"Say that a police investigation is underway and you have been asked not to comment."

"You are good at this," Maclean says.

"I'm one of them."

"One of?"

"He's a reporter," Rob says.

"Oh." Maclean looks at him as if he has swallowed something unpleasant. Jared feels the need to tell him that he does not chase ambulances, but he stops himself.

"You need to be there, too. You need to do the talking. Rachel, you stand next to him. Don't take questions if you can help it. Give the statement and get out. They'll go away."

"O.K. Where is my husband now?"

"He's back in his room. If you'd like to see him, you can go ahead."

"I'd better do the press conference first. Ready doctor?"

"I am not a public speaker, Mrs. Padalecki, but I suppose I don't have a choice."

"You should go down with them," Rob says. "I'll stay here with Jack." He squeezes Jared's hand. Jared squeezes back.

"Right."

"Is it all right if Jack sees his dad?"

"Yes. Just make sure he doesn't climb on him. And if he's sleeping, don't wake him."

"All right."

Jared lets Rachel and Maclean go ahead of him off the elevator and out the building. He slides past them, taking advantage of the distraction to move behind the reporters. There are seven from print papers and one video camera. He does not know all of them. He sees his paper represented. Sterling's assistant Brock is there, probably sent out on what will be an easy story. No doubt the boss will call on Jared for the inside story. He is surprised his phone has not rung yet. The boss can wait. Jared has no intention of whoring his family out. It is just the business that has them all here, the fact that their father built so many tall buildings that so many multi-million dollar businesses work from. That, and the possible connection to Mark Pellegrino, but he can't know if any of them are aware of that. 

Microphones crowd around. Maclean is doing his best to look unflustered. Rachel focuses on Maclean, as if she is unwilling to face the mob. Her mouth is not quite a smile, not quite a frown. 

"I'd like to make a statement about a patient we have here." Maclean clears his throat and begins. He proceeds exactly as Jared had instructed. Vague details. He and Rachel leave as soon as he finishes.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Padalecki? Could I ask a question? I work with your brother-in-law." Brock's voice rises over the others.

Rachel turns towards him.

Oh he is good, Jared thinks. Very good.

"Are you aware that five hundred thousand dollars were recently withdrawn from your husband's family's company? The one your husband is the CEO of?"

Rachel stares at him. "No," she says, finally. "Where are you getting your information from?"

"A private source." Brock looks down. Jared's blood begins to boil. Private source, indeed. He moves further away from the journalists, pulling his cell phone out as he goes. 

"You have to bring Sterling in for questioning."

"Why would I do that?" Jensen asks.

"He's in on it."

"What makes you so sure?"

"His assistant just asked Rachel something she didn't even know." He goes up on his tiptoes to see Rachel, still there, but no longer looking awkward. She is saying something, but Jared cannot hear it. Then Maclean turns to one side and she walks in front of him, back into the building.

"And that was?" Jensen asks.

"Five hundred thousand dollars have been deducted from the business."

"An amount like that, you and I would have to co-sign."

"Well, maybe it's about to be withdrawn. The point is, he knew. How would he know if Sterling hadn't told him?"

"We're still rounding up Pellegrino's men."

"Well, round up Sterling, too." The reporters are dispersing. Jared debates running after Brock, but the prospect of becoming a target of their interest dissuades him. He watches from his distance as Brock hitches a ride with a reporter Jared does not know. 

"All right." Jensen says.

'Thank you."

Jared goes straight to Misha's room. Rachel, Rob, and Jack are there. Misha is awake and smiling, but that does not take away the shock of seeing him in the gown, laid out on the bed. If Jared had thought Rob looked bad, Misha is a hundred times worse. One eye is swollen completely shut. His hands look broken as if someone stomped on them. His lip is cracked and split. Jared realizes he is not smiling. The attack has caused his lip to curl. He has stitches in his head and shaved patch of hair. For a moment, Jared stands in the doorway, steeling himself.

"It's not as bad as it looks, Buddy," Misha says.

His voice, at least, is the same. Jared finds this absurdly reassuring and pushes himself towards the bed. 

"Hey. How are you?"

"Did you know they give you cherry Popsicles here? I haven't one of those since I was a kid. You remember? Mom used to give them to us."

"You always threw them up."

"He threw this one up, too," Rachel says.

"But they are still delicious. Come here." Misha holds his hand out. Jared goes to him.  
Misha's grip is surprisingly strong. The fingers in this hand, at least, seem to work fine. Misha pulls him down and whispers to him. "I have to get out of here."

"Misha…"

"Ashley's in trouble. You have to get me out of here."

"I'm sorry, I can't. You need to stay." Jared tries to pull back, but Misha holds tight. A tear crawls from his unswollen eye. 

"Jared…" The word is a hiss. "Please."

"No. Whatever it is can wait. We'll tell Jensen. He'll help."

Misha finally releases him. He stumbles backwards, rubbing his arm.

"I've really fucked up," Misha says. "I'm the only one who can fix it."

"What are you talking about?" Rachel asks.

Misha lays back and looks at the ceiling. His chest rises and falls in short bursts of breath. "What did I do?" The breathing quickly turns to weeping. Jared looks at Rob, as if he'll know what to do, but Rob is looking at the floor.

"Would you guys excuse us, please?"

"Yeah." 

"Rach, I'm sorry. Can you go get me a coffee? Please?" Misha asks.

"Sure," she says. "Decaf." They move out into the hallway, and when Misha's sobbing is still audible, they close the door and move farther down it until Jared can pretend that his older brother is not having some kind of breakdown under his nose. Rachel heads for the coffee machine down the hall.

"He'll be all right," Rob says.

Jared nods. "You can't keep Misha down. He'll bounce back." The words feel as empty as they sound, but Rob smiles anyway. 

"That's right." He moves towards Jared, trapping him in an embrace that makes Jared feel like weeping, too, but he settles for resting his head against Rob's and shutting the world out for the moment. When his hip begins to vibrate, he doesn't pull away. Rob laughs softly and tilts his pelvis in a joking manner. He can feel it, too. Jared reaches into his pocket for his phone. He nuzzles into Rob and puts the phone to his ear. 

"Jensen?"

Jensen launches into the conversation as if no time has passed. "We got Pellegrino's men. Two of the biggest idiots you could think of. You couldn't invent these guys."

"Good. What do they say?"

"They say that they haven't had Sterling."

"So?" Rachel walks past with the coffee, towards Misha's room.

"I believe them. They're too stupid to make it up. They say they had him for a time but not nearly as long as he's been missing." 

"So what's he been doing all this time?"

"Good question. A couple of uniforms are bringing him in as we speak. You want to bring your little notebook along and watch me question him?"

"I don't have a little notebook."

"Don't you?"

"With me."

"Hmm."

"I could really come along and watch?" A surge of hero worship powers through him.

"Yeah. Come down to the station and you can see how real men work."

Rachel comes racing out of the room. "Is that Jensen?"

"Yes."

She snatches the phone from him. "Jensen, Misha's missing." Jared can hear Jensen's reaction, a roar of discontent. "I went for a coffee and when I came back he was gone." She turns to Jared. Jared feels like screaming, too. "You didn't hear anything? See anything?"

"He probably just went for a walk. We'll start looking." He starts off, uncertain where to go, where to start, but Rachel grabs his sleeve. He stops.

Rachel listens to the phone again. "Thank you. Yes. Definitely. Jensen—get the asshole who did this." She hands the phone back to Jared. Jared listens, but Jensen is gone.

"Did Misha say something to you about wanting to leave? Before he started crying?"

"Yes. He said he had to protect someone or something. I told him to hold tight. There's nothing he could have done. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, Jared," Rob says. Rachel nods.

"I'm going to find a nurse and Dr. Maclean and get them to shut the hospital down until we can find him."

"Is that a good idea?"

"What?"

"The press is here. They've mostly left, but there could be a few hanging around. They'll report it. What if…what if he's not safe?" Jared says. 

Rachel freezes. "Yes. Right. O.K. We'll keep it quiet. Tell Maclean and he'll decide which nurses to trust with it. Jensen said to canvas the hospital."

"I'll start on the bottom and work my way up," Rob says. "If I run into press it won't matter. They don't know me."

"What if he's gone because someone took him?" Jared asks, putting voice to something they've each worried about.

"There wasn't any sign of struggle."

"Could you tell?"

"Jared, if you think that my husband could not get up and walk out of any situation, no matter how hurt he was, then you are greatly underestimating him."

Jared nods, even as he thinks that Rachel is greatly overestimating his brother. "But if he was taken—we should tell security."

"He'll be gone by now," Rob says. "You don't think they'd stick around?"

"Jensen arrested the men on the video. How many people does Pellegrino have working with him?" The thought sends a shudder down them all. He notices that he is not the only one looking over his shoulder. "I'm going to tell someone," Jared says. He heads for the desk before anyone can stop him. He hears Rachel's shoes clicking along behind him. Maclean rounds the corner at that moment, and Jared stops short, narrowly avoiding a collision. 

"Misha's missing."

"I'm sorry?"

"He's not in his room," Rachel says, gesturing backwards.

"I'll just check that he wasn't sent down for tests."

"Wouldn't I have been informed if that were going to happen? And he's been in for testing all morning."

"They could have missed something." 

"They who? You're his doctor."

"I know." Maclean reroutes to the desk. They all follow. He grabs the nurse's attention.  
"Did you know if Mr. Padalecki was taken for tests?"

The nurse shakes her head. "No, he's been discharged."

"I didn't give the order for that."

"He had a form. Everything was as it should be."

"Did he leave with anyone?" Rachel asks, shouldering in between Jared and Maclean.

"No." The nurse looks back and forth between them.

"Is something wrong?"

"Possibly," Maclean says. "If you qualify that a man who may have internal bleeding is now wandering around on his own."

"I thought you said he didn't have that." Rachel says.

"I said I didn't think he did. Tests had not shown it. This is why we keep people for observation." Maclean glares at Jared, and Jared wonders when he's felt more stupid. Rachel, meanwhile, is smiling, though a sheen of tears shows on her eyes.

"I told you my husband was capable of anything. Now, we have to figure out where he's gone."

"I have an idea," Jared says. They all look at him. He wonders if this is such a shock, for him to think of something. "Jensen is bringing Sterling in. He asked me to go down and watch the questioning."

"You think Sterling will lead us to Misha?"

"Best chance we have, don't you think?"

"Could be." Rachel nods. She tucks her purse up under her arm. She starts for the door.  
"Let's get down to the station."

"Guys?"

"Yes?"

"Where's Jack?" Rob looks around. 

"Oh, shit. I left him napping in the hallway." Rachel races back to fetch her son.

"You're going to be a great dad," Jared says.

"If I ever get the chance."

Jared squeezes his hand, not quite saying that he will. Rachel returns, pulling her groggy child with her. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to see Uncle Jensen. All right?"

Jack answers with a wide, uncovered yawn. Jared feels like he's on an adventure as he files out of the hospital, taking the back exit to avoid the press who are still milling around. They move automatically to Rachel's car. She buckles Jack into his booster seat. Rob gets in beside him and Jared takes shotgun. 

"How was your weekend away?"

Jared holds up his hand. His ring glints in the sunlight coming through the windshield.

"You didn't. Really?" Rachel gasps. "Guys, that's wonderful. You should have said…"

"Didn't really seem like the time," Jared says.

"No, yeah, you're right. But, God, good news is always welcome."

"Thank you." Jared turns and grins at Rob, who leans up for a brief kiss. 

"Finally got him," Rob says.

Rachel laughs. The sound is light, but it does not reach her eyes, which are focused on the road, her hands at ten and two, steering them steadfastly towards the police station. 

Danneel is waiting for them when they get inside. "One of the uniforms is going to watch your son, Mrs. Padalecki."

"I'll watch him," Rob says. "I don't need to be in the interview. Don't have much a stomach for that kind of thing."

"What do you think goes on?" Danneel asks.

"Well. We know Jensen."

Jared has been thinking the same thing. He's not sure if he's going to witness a man getting his head bashed in. He reckons Rob has had enough of that from being on the receiving end. 

"I think that's a good idea." Rachel hands Jack over to Rob.

"I'll show where the canteen is. You can sit in there with him. It's on the way to the interview room, so follow me, everyone." Jared tries to notice everything as he walks, but there is not much to notice. The majority of the cops work on a different floor. This one is mainly admitting. Danneel leads them down a long, empty hallway which opens out to a food court of sorts, though a small one. Rob veers off. 

"I'll see you later."

"A few minutes," Jared says, and finds himself hoping it won't be longer than that. How long will it take Jensen to break a man? Danneel leads him and Rachel into a small room. There is a large window in it, which looks into a room with a rectangular table and two chairs. Jensen and Sterling are seated, staring at each other. 

"He won't be able to hear or see you," Danneel says. She pulls chairs up behind them. Both Jared and Rachel ignore them and lean up with their elbows on the window.

Having seen the photo of him on the swim team at college, Jared is struck by how much Sterling has changed. Gone is the lean body. He has a paunch now. Jared had not noticed the paunch before because Sterling dressed to hide it, but the track suit he is wearing affords no camouflage. He is not the sort of man who dresses sloppily in public, and Jared wonders if his captivity has affected his sartorial choices or if he has been picked up from his home with no time to change. There is something else different about his appearance, not just from the picture but from how Jared remembers him. For some reason, seeing him like this makes Jared wish he could interrupt and tell his brother to go easy on the man. Sterling looks as if he has been there for a while. His arms are crossed over his stomach and his head is down, as if he is sleeping. Jensen has one leg up on the table and a hand on it, too, steadying the chair as he tilts it. He watches Sterling with a direct and focused gaze.

"It's a mirror on the other side?" Rachel says.

"Just like on television," Danneel says. She flips a switch on a metal box on the wall and it crackles to life. "Ready," she says. Her voice echoes into the room where Jensen is. Jensen moves his leg off the table, slowly, drowsily, like a lion roused from a deep sleep. Sterling, too, stirs. He looks up. 

"Well, Mr. Brown," Jensen says. "How are you today?"

"I was a lot better an hour ago. Don't know why you dragged me in here. Can't I go home? Couldn't you have talked to me there like the rest of them?" Sterling asks. He looks listlessly at the coffee cup in front of him on the metal table. 

"Them?" Jensen asks. He's sitting across from Sterling, his own coffee balanced on his stomach. 

 

"The police. They talked to me when I was found. Came to the hospital, too. I've talked to you people so many times. I don't know what else I'm supposed to say." 

"Supposed to say? You working off a script?" 

"What? No. I just...look, I'm tired. I've been through a lot. I just want to be left alone." 

"Mark Pellegrino took you?" 

"Yes." 

"What do you know about Jared Padalecki?" 

"He works on my paper. I mean, the same paper I work on." 

"He was supposed to take that meeting with Pellegrino, wasn't he?" 

"I don't know." 

"Where'd you get the contact for Pellegrino?" 

"I went for a drink. A lady started talking to me. Then I woke up in a room and that's all I know." 

"You were spotted at Torchie's the night you disappeared. Witness said it looked like you were racing out to meet someone. Who were you racing out to meet?" 

"I don't remember." 

"Try." 

"I'm sorry. I really don't know." 

"How about this—got another witness says you picked up a phone number off Jared's assistant's desk. That Pellegrino's number?" 

"Jared?" 

"What?" 

"You called him Jared, not Padalecki. Your name's Padalecki... You're his brother?" 

"That going to be a problem with you?" 

"It is if that's why you're accusing me of stuff." 

"How about you worry about that once the accusing starts." 

Sterling crosses his arms. 

"Tell me about your assistant." 

"Brock? He's all right." 

"Would you say he has his eyes on the prize? Wants to be a full-fledged reporter some day?" 

"Most people in that building do. Even the ladies in the canteen have their ears open." 

"Do you give him tips?" 

"Sometimes. If there's something I can't follow up on, I do."

"Or if it was something that would look strange if you followed up on it?" 

"I don't understand." 

"At a press conference today Brock asked Rachel Padalecki if she was aware that $500,000 had disappeared from Padalecki Construction's account. She wasn't. Now, if she wasn't aware, then how was Brock?" 

"I don't know." 

"You told him to ask the question." 

"I didn't." 

"Are you aware that Pellegrino was attempting to extort money from Padalecki construction?" 

"No." 

"Why did Pellegrino let you go?" 

"I don't know." 

"You should be dead, if he was operating according to pattern. Why aren't you?" 

"I don't know." 

"You're right. Jared's my brother. My youngest brother. We're all a bit protective of him. I don't like it when people try to hurt him. I like it even less when people try to help people hurt him by not helping me. So you start talking, or I'll start pounding your head." 

"I want a..." 

"You better be about to say 'chicken sandwich'." 

"...lawyer." 

"All right. You confessing to something?" 

"I'm confessing to being scared of you." 

"Scared of me? Why would you be scared of me? Camera's on. I'm sitting down. You're sitting down. We're having a nice chat, here. There's even people in the next room, watching. I'm a good boy, here." He puts his hands up. No defenses. 

"Who's watching?" 

"Oh, you wanna see? Put the lights on, would you?" 

Danneel flips the lights, illuminating Jared and Rachel. Sterling stares at them. Jensen makes a sign and the lights go dark again. 

"They're here?" 

"They are. And you know what? Pellegrino's thugs have attacked Misha. He's in the hospital. These same thugs attacked Jared's husband. So, you're going to tell me what you told Pellegrino so I can put a stop to it." 

"I don't have any idea." 

"No? Then how about this—I'll give you one more chance to tell me how you got away from Pellegrino." 

"You just said you wouldn't hurt me." 

"Oh, I won't. But I'm not qualified to speak for Rachel. Trust me, you won't want to go against her." 

"I don't..." 

"What happened?" 

"I can't. He'll kill me." 

"Oh, I think you can." 

"Misha was my friend." 

"I know you were in college together. On the swim team." 

"You know? Yes." 

"Pellegrino was going to kill me, but I heard him talking...about Misha. How he couldn't get him to keep to the deal his father had. So, I told him, that maybe I could help with that." 

"And how did you do that?" 

"I told him about something that happened in college." 

"Ashley Davenport." 

"You know?" 

"You're going to tell me. Everything." 

"Misha blames himself for everything that happened. I told Pellegrino that if he threatened Misha with going public, he'd pay up. And, apparently, Misha did." 

"When was this?" 

"A week ago." 

"He kept you for a week after?" 

"No. He let me go, drove me out so I didn't know where I was and dumped me off. Told me to disappear." 

"And you thought you'd wander naked into a gas station and call that disappearing?" 

"No—don't know how many days after that was. I spent some time in the company of a lady." 

"Name?" 

"Didn't catch it." 

"I see." 

"Where were you?" 

"Hotel somewhere. Didn't get the name." 

"I'm sensing a pattern with you." 

"That's all I know." 

"You're going to tell me about Davenport." 

"Misha's roommate. Rumor went around that Misha…does she have to be here for this?" He thumbs towards the window. 

"I think she'll find out eventually." 

"Please, I can't say this in front of her." 

"Right. Rachel, you want to step out, please?" 

The light is flicked on, and Sterling and Jensen watch as Rachel goes out. Jared stays put. The second the light is flicked again, Rachel returns. 

"He won't like this," Jared says. 

"If they turn the light on again, I'll duck." 

"Go on," Jensen says. What was this rumor going around your school?" 

"It was, um, that Misha was sucking Ashley off at night. Like, the kid was having nightmares and Misha would suck him off to shut him up. He was a weird kid, Davenport. I knew his roommate from the semester before, and he said he was fucking crazy, like, crying and shit all the time. So, when these rumors started about Misha and him, I started razzing him about it. I told him the whole team knew he was this fag's pillow-biter." 

"That wasn't a very nice thing to say." 

"Funny to hear him telling someone to quit with the homophobic comments," Jared says.

"He doesn't think it's anything bad when he's saying it to you. You’re his brother. You know he loves you."

"I know. Makes it worse."

"You could tell him."

"I don't think so."

"It was only teasing. The week before we'd strung somebody's shorts up the flagpole while he was wearing them. Misha was in on that. He gave as good as he got. Everyone liked him. I still like him." 

"Yet you sold him out." 

"Why the hell do you think I turned up the way I did? Out of my head? I fucking wanted to forget what I'd done. He didn't deserve it, but I didn't want to die. I saw the chance to push someone in front of a truck and I took it. I'm sorry it was him, but there was nothing I could do." 

"So what kind of truck did you push him in front of, exactly?" 

"What?" 

"What did you tell Pellegrino?" 

"I told him what happened after I teased Misha." 

"Which was?" 

"Well, he beat the shit out of Ashley." 

"You got proof of this?" 

"Everyone on the floor saw Misha running down the hallway with his hands covered in blood, screaming for help. How much more proof do you need? He said he'd been out and come home to find Ashley had slit his wrists, but the kid was all bruised up. I knew what had happened. Misha had taken my joke bad and taken it out on Ashley. They took Ashley to the hospital. He was bad, real bad. I mean, I heard. I wasn't there." 

"Davenport died?" 

"No—no, he lives in Horace. He's a priest at the Catholic church there. He never told anyone it was Misha that beat him up. I think I'm the only one who knows. Until I told Mark." 

"Why would Ashley not tell? He that much of a 'turn the other cheek' kind of guy?" 

"He'd have to tell why, wouldn't he? You think he was going to do that? He wanted to be a priest. He knew to keep it to himself that he was queer." 

"Did Misha tell you he beat on Ashley?" 

"Not in so many words." 

"Then how do you know he did?" 

"Because he wouldn't be so damn guilty about it if he hadn't, would he? He blamed himself for Ashley trying to kill himself." 

"Funny, I would have blamed you for starting the rumor in the first place." 

"I…I know." 

"So, Pellegrino was threatening Misha that he'd reveal he'd beaten Davenport into a pulp? That could hurt a business, finding out the owner was taken to kicking in queers, especially in our newly enlightened times." 

"You sure about that, Detective? Times aren't that enlightened. Might get a boost out of it. No, that wasn't it. Misha wouldn't care about himself. He'd probably be glad for it, if someone 'outed' him. Gave him an excuse to purge in public." 

"When's the last time you saw Misha?" 

"Not since college." 

"You seem to know an awful lot about my brother. Sure you aren't projecting some?" 

"I've lived with guilt, too, haven't I?" 

"So, what did you tell Pellegrino?" 

"I told him that if he wanted to get his money, he should threaten to go public with the truth about Ashley's sexuality. Horace is a small town. They'd drive Ashley out of there. Since Misha blames himself already for what happened, the last thing he'd want would be to ruin Ashley's life again." 

"Would have ruined Misha, too. Mark must have liked that." 

"That's probably fair to say. Misha just…after it happened, I think he stopped caring about anything." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I felt…bad, after. When Ashley was in the hospital and we didn't know if he was going to live or not. It was a joke that went out of control. So, I took a pizza over to Misha's room, you know, to apologize. He asked me to…" He opens and closes his hands, as if searching for the correct gesture to symbolize what he does not want to say. "It was cold, and we didn't know what we were doing, and he started crying, and I started crying, and I didn't want to do it, and he didn't want to do it, but it felt like we had to. I pushed him down, or he pulled me down, I don't know. Our clothes came off somehow and he was so… He was shaking. It hurt, both of us. We stayed together, every night, pizza and…that, until we got word that Ashley would live. I thought it would be fine, then, but he wasn't over it. I was nineteen years old. I didn't know what to do. So, I transferred. Left him to do whatever the hell he wanted with someone else. We weren't either of us any good at getting better, not when it was our fault in the first place." 

"All right. An officer will take you home." 

"That's it? I can go?" 

"You haven't done anything illegal." 

"But…" 

"The line between wrong and illegal may not be obvious, but it is there, sometimes." 

"Oh. I can't go back to work now, can I? With Jared." 

"You'll have to take that up with Jared."

"Are they going to arrest Pellegrino?" Jared asks Danneel.

"They'll put a warrant out for him. It could take a few days. They'll do it by the book. We all want it to stick."

"O.K. Good."

She nods, looking through the window where Jensen is showing Sterling how to write out his confession on a pad of paper.

"Jared," Rachel says, "I know where my husband is. Would you mind driving me?" 

"Where are we going?" 

"Horace." They exit the interview room. Danneel lets them go on their own to find Rob and Jack.

"I'm coming, too," Rob says when they tell him, amidst Jack pushing the badge he's been given into their noses, and when Jared starts to protest that he should stay, he puts his hand on Jared's chest and says to Rachel, "and I'm driving—if it's all right with you." 

Rachel looks at him.

"Oh, let him. He never gets to drive."

"It's true." Rob offers his most pitiable face.

Rachel hands over the keys. "Lead on, Detective Jack." Jack skips ahead of them until he remembers that perhaps police detectives do not skip and that he was asleep on the way in and has no idea where he is going. He falters, but Rob reaches him and nudges him in the correct direction. He sees the heavy doors at the front of the building and marches for them. They get into the car, Jared in the back this time with Jack, and Rob in the driver's seat.

"We should get food. It's an hour to Horace. When's the last time any of us ate?"

"Jack and I ate just now."

"Cop food is great," Jack says. Jared catches the reflection of Rob rolling his eyes in the rearview mirror and laughs.

"Yes. We could do a drive through," Rachel says, and that is settled.

Food received, they hit the road. 

"I never think about Misha having a roommate," Rachel says. "He needs space to spread his mess around. Living with Misha makes a person appreciate the merits of a super-vacuum."

"Misha didn't tell you about Ashley?"

"He did. We went to his ordination."

Jared watches Rob distribute ketchup over Jack's fries. "What was he like?"

"I didn't get the chance to meet him. Misha started feeling unwell, and we had to leave as soon as it was finished. Ashley saw him, though. I felt bad leaving because it was obvious he was glad Misha had come."

When they get inside the church, Rachel heads for the first man in black she sees and soon Jared and Rob are following her along a corridor as the priest makes vain gesticulations that she can't go back there, protestations which she ignores, and, following her example, Jared and Rob do, too. She stops in front of a door that stands up like a wall with a brass knocker. 

"Is this the rectory?" 

"Yes," the priest says. "But Father Davenport is in there with a parishioner and…" 

Rachel pushes the door open. "Misha Padalecki, you have a fuck of a lot of explaining to do." 

Misha sets his cup down. He grabs her, shaking, and they embrace. Jared and Rob step back, Rob holding Jack, looking away, as the object of the mess, Father Ashley Davenport, does the same. Gradually, the two embracing release each other, and Ashley offers her his seat. 

"Jack and I will wait outside," Rob says. He backs out before anyone can say anything, already talking to Jack about playing hide and seek in the pews. 

"I’m so sorry about all this," Ashley says, reaching out as Misha gags on a sob. Ashley seeks out Rachel. "But I will do all I can to make it better now."

Jared feels as if he is eavesdropping, even though he was invited into the conversation. The walls in the rectory seem too small, as if they are crushing the four of them together. He wishes he could be on the other side of the door with Rob, except that would mean squeezing between Misha and Ashley and Rachel and disrupting them even more. Misha buries his face against Rachel’s knee. She rubs his head and looks as if she has been slapped. 

"You've got a hell of a story now," Misha says to him. 

"I won't write it if you don't want me to. Family first." Jared looks from Misha to Ashley. "I'm not in the business of burying people." Not like some, he does not say. 

"I'm going to come out to my congregation," Ashley says. "They have a right to know who their priest is. They tell me their secrets. I owe them the courtesy to do the same." 

"What if they reject you?" 

"I don't think they will. But if they do, there are other churches." 

"Ashley, you could be opening a can of issues that you aren't prepared for." 

"I'll tell them about persecution and sacrifice and celibacy—it's what anyone who receives the call goes through. I'm no different than any other priest here. My temptations just come from a different area. We all have our…oddities. I happen to know that Sister Mary Clare enjoys reading manga in her spare time. Some of the comics in her quarters aren't exactly church-sanctioned, or, well, any of them, I suppose since she is a nun, after all." 

"So, do you think I could…?" 

"I think Mark Pellegrino needs a damned big article to go along with his arrest," Misha says. "I give you permission to tell everything." 

"As do I," says Ashley. "I'm just sorry you didn't come to me before you gave him a payout."

"I'll think about it," Jared says. He can't decide if he's being used as the last pawn standing in Misha's attempt to purge himself of the guilt he has carried for years, and if by writing the story, he'll knock Misha's willing king off the board. He tries to put himself into Misha's situation, but, not having a honed sense of guilt by nature, all he can do is conjure up a slight stomachache.

** Chapter Nine **

"I want you to fire Brock. And Sterling."

Beaver looks up. "Sterling will handle his own conscience. And I'm not going to fire Brock for doing his job. He had a source and he used it."

"He ambushed my family because Sterling was too much of a coward to do it himself."

"So why should I fire him? We all have to be the news eventually, Jared. You should know that."

Jared slams his hand down on the desk. Beaver does not flinch. "Are you doing the story or should I farm it out?"

"I'm doing it."

"Good."

"Fat bastard."

"I want a thousand words on my desk by the end of the day."

"A thousand? You're not thinking front page?"

"The destruction of Mark Pellegrino and one of this town's best-known families written by a member of that family? I'd buy a fucking plane to sky-write it if I could."

"Glad to know you think so much of our privacy."

"Jared. If I didn't, I'd have someone else write it."

"Yeah. O.K." He goes back to his desk and sits, staring at the flashing cursor. He doesn't know how long he sits like this, but eventually he is made aware of someone standing beside him. 

"I'm sorry," Sterling says. "You can't know how sorry I am."

Jared pinches the bridge of his nose. "I blame you for everything. I will do everything I can to have you reassigned."

"I guess I can understand that. Anyway, just wanted to say, you know. Sorry." He starts to move away.

"Did you know I worked here before?"

"Of course I did."

Jared stopped touching his face and looked up. "Is that why you came?'

"I applied for the job because I was tired of small town work and this is the best paper in Upton."

"Had nothing to do with my brother?"

"I haven't thought about your brother in years."

"I find that exceedingly difficult to believe."

Sterling shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He walked back to his desk as Jared replayed all the lunches they had shared during Sterling's first weeks as they felt each other out, sized up the competition, so to speak. Jared had been judging him based on the wrong reasons. He knew Sterling was lying. Did he care to prove it? Made no difference now. Let him have his denial. If he wanted to think that this thing that happened when he was a kid had not affected him, that it had not driven him to seek out Misha in any way he could, by taking a job on the paper where his brother worked, for example, then let him go ahead and think that.

"You all right?" Genevieve says. She puts a cup of coffee in front of him.

He smiled up at her. "Fuck. If you're bringing me coffee then I must be pathetic."

"Pretty much. It's good to have you back."

"Thanks." He gets up.

"Where are you going?"

"Out. I'm going to try writing at the bar. I can't concentrate here." He wants to be back at home, curled up on the couch with Rob, but Rob is at work, too. They are all returning to normal. In a few weeks’ time, every bruise acquired will fade and nothing will be left of what happened. Jared is not sure how he feels about this. He knows that what he is about to write will capture it forever, and that one day he will read what happened to his family and feel nothing but uncomfortable nostalgia. 

Outside the building, the protesters are marching and chanting. The woman who spat on Jensen ducks under the barricade and approaches. He tries to avoid her, but she keeps coming. "I come in peace," she says. He stops. "I just wanted to say I'm very sorry about the trouble your family has gone through."

"Thank you." He stares at her. This is the first time she has spoken to him in a normal tone of voice. She seems like a person, a logical individual. "I appreciate it." She steps back and lets him go, thankfully, before the illusion of normalcy is ruined. She returns to the picket line where the chanting continues.

#

There is a bar favored by journalists looking for a place for a quiet drink and good lighting to write under. Jared walks past it without a glance. It is the last place he wants to be. Until his story is published, his cohorts in the trade will be hounding him for an exclusive. Instead, he rounds the corner and chooses a dive buried down an alley. He’s inside before he realizes it is the same bar that Sterling disappeared from. He’s seen the initial police report from when he resurfaced. This is the place. Before he can entertain the idea of leaving, curiosity wins him over—maybe he’ll find inspiration here—and he walks up to the bar. He orders a beer—the place does not serve wine, and he's not certain one of his 'kind' would be welcome there. But the men at the bar don't pay him any attention. One is a biker with the hair and leathers to match. The other is in jeans and a t-shirt and sturdy boots. Jared takes his drink into a booth. The seats are wooden and the backs extend upwards, giving him privacy. He starts to write, but instead of words, he simply doodles. He is stuck for how to begin. He writes down what happened at the end, with the warrant going out for Mark's arrest. Then he writes what came before, Sterling's interrogation. He feels badly for the man now., Sterling seems as damaged as Misha, though no less selfish for what happened. He writes about the people who are not in his family, as if he is making a spiral with their stories that will eventually lead him to writing about the ones he most wants to avoid writing about. He has written Misha's name at the start of a sentence when he senses someone standing beside him. He looks up. Aldis is standing beside him, smiling awkwardly.

"Hey," he says. "What are you doing here?"

"The beer's cheap," Aldis says. "Can't beat it."

"No, I guess not."

"Misha’s going to be all right," Aldis says. "Do you mind if I sit down?" 

"No." The boy gives him a break from finishing the sentence he is writing, but he knows he'll have to work himself up to it again because it will say, "Misha Padalecki agreed to the demands of Pellegrino," and thinking it makes him sick, so he can't think of what writing it and then reading it will do.

Aldis slides into the booth opposite Jared. 

"Looks that way. About Misha being O.K, I mean." 

"Yeah. So." There he goes again with that shy smile. His eyes are blue; the color is clear even in the darkness of the bar. 

Aldis bumps Jared's foot with his own. Jared thinks it is an accident, but it happens again, with gentle force. Aldis foot comes to rest on top of his. Jared gently extracts himself. 

"Rob and I are exclusive now. Sorry." He doesn’t feel sorry. He is glad about this.  
Aldis looks at the table, his light momentarily dulled. Then he looks up, smiling. "A drink, then? To friendship?" 

Jared nods. "That would be fine." 

"My mother always said not to toast anything with beer. I'll be right back." Aldis hops up before Jared can say that he thinks beer is the only thing the bar has—beer in three varieties, cheap, cheaper, and cheapest. Aldis comes back shortly carrying two glasses. The boy must know something Jared doesn't because it's not beer in them. Jared willingly pushes his bottle aside for the glass of red liquid. They toast each other. Things will be fine, Jared thinks. Pellegrino doesn’t have a thing on Misha now that Ashley has decided to go public. No reason to blackmail him. He realizes that Aldis is holding his hand and wonders how he hadn’t noticed before. When Aldis pulls him up and out the door, he stumbles along. The black SUV is difficult to get into without a boost, but Aldis obliges. He blinks when Mark Pellegrino speaks to him. He falls over onto Mark’s shoulder. 

When he wakes, he is in a bed, still clothed. An ancient television is programmed to a "People’s Court" type show. He tries to reach the remote to shut it off because it isn’t helping his headache, but finds that he is shackled to the bed. He pulls the chain, tries to fight his way through the fog in his brain. It is grabbing him again, and he lets it, falling asleep to the sounds of the judge’s admonishments. 

When he wakes again, Mark Pellegrino is sitting beside his bed. Someone has thrown a blanket over him. 

"Well?" Jared says. He feels brave, saying it. 

"See, the problem," Pellegrino says, "is your brothers stopped the payment that was supposed to be forthcoming. So we’re trying a new tactic to encourage them to move forward with it." He allows for a tiny smile. 

"So, what’s the plan?" 

"Your brother resumes the payouts from your father’s company, or I release your dead body to them. Hungry?" 

"What?" 

Mark gets up. "I’ll send you something." 

"I’m not hungry."

"Jared. It’s true I’m going to kill you. But until then, I won’t have you starving. Spaghetti O.K.?" Mark smiles. 

"Should have had me inherit the business. Too bad for you that it went to the one of us with an unwavering moral center."

"Yes."

"You didn't know what to do, did you? You had nothing on Misha that would make him pay you. Then my assistant called you and said I wanted to meet you. That's why you agreed to it. You don't give interviews. You needed a reason and I fell into your lap. Manna from Heaven, you must have thought. But then Sterling came along and you were stuck, but he turned out to be useful for what he knew. I'll only be useful for who I am."

"I may have misjudged you. I had you pegged for pompous imbecile."

"Not so pompous, Mr. Pellegrino."

"Hmm. Perhaps not so much of an imbecile, either." He leaves, shutting the light out with him. Jared pulls the blanket up over his chest and waits. 

 

True to his word, Pellegrino returns with a plate of spaghetti. He hands it to Jared and sits in the chair as Jared eats. "Have you heard from anyone yet? About me?"

"Do you mean which of your knights will be bounding to your rescue?"

"Yes."

"Radio silence. You're going to die, Jared. I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do about it."

"You're the one who's going to kill me, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"And there's nothing you can do?"

"It’s a matter of principle."

"You let Sterling live."

"Yes. But permanently? No."

After Mark leaves, Jared tugs the chain. His wrist is sore from pulling it and still it gives no slack. He tries to guess how much Pellegrino paid Aldis, what he held over him to get him to do his dirty work. Maybe he should be more upset about it, but with imminent death hanging over his head, he couldn't bring himself to care. 

He collapses onto the bed again and looks at the ceiling. The bumps paint the life he could have led. One of faith and fidelity. Fatherhood. Children. It doesn't seem so frightening now. He thinks that he could do it, if only he were allowed to. The pasta sits heavy in his stomach. He rolls onto his side and curls around his knees. He tells himself that he is not frightened. His heart is not pounding from fear. It is simply calling out to him all the regrets he did not know he had, all the wrongs and offenses he will never put right. He didn't tell Rob he loved him enough. He didn't tell Jensen how he worshipped him. He didn't tell Misha thank you for a thousand kindnesses. He wrenches forward, as if taking the chain by surprise will free him. It remains stoic. He does not. 

He makes vows. He'll be good. No more sleeping around. Pure devotion to one man. Sure, a promise already made, but he pledges to keep it. Children. More time at home. He only asks for one thing. As the hours pass, the other end of the bargain shows no signs of turning up. His mouth is dry and a full bladder is causing him to cramp. When he can stand it no longer, he moves as close to the edge of the bed as he can, unzips his jeans and relieves himself onto the carpet. He can smell it immediately, punget and warm. He huddles as far from it as he can and pulls a pillow over his head.

No one comes.

#

"Fuck, he's pissed himself." Jared works his eyes open to see a man he doesn't know, perhaps one of those who beat Rob and Misha, glaring down at him. He wonders if he should apologize. He tries to form words, but his throat is too dry.

"It's time." The man grabs him and holds him while another releases him from the damned cuff. He tries to stand, but two days have made his legs wobbly. He falters beside the bed. One of the men cuffs him, pulling his hands behind his back and, hand on his neck, forces him to leave the room. They exit into a hallway and he is shoved onto an elevator. It opens into a basement, large and clean. Pellegrino is there, his back to the entering men. 

"We got him, boss."

When Pellegrino turns, he is holding a gun. Bile rises in Jared's throat. He swallows it down. 

"I'm sorry, Jared. Time's up." Pellegrino nods, and the hands on his shoulders push him to the floor. 

"No. Don’t. Please." He wasn’t going to beg, but he is; on his knees, it seems the thing to do. He thinks of all the times he’s been on his knees, and in all the places, of all the men. His mind conjures up a bitter taste on his tongue. 

Mark strokes his head and makes shushing noises as if he is soothing a baby. "Now, I’m sure your brothers love you very much, but sometimes in life we have to choose between the good of the individual and good of the whole. Does Misha love you more than Rachel and Jack, for example?"

"I’ll go away, I won’t come back, you can let them think I’m dead," he starts babbling nonsense. Someone steps towards him with a pillowcase held out. Jared sees it and begins to struggle and thrash. Mark steps behind him and kicks him forward. The leverage would be enough to get him to his feet, if they weren’t tied, so all he can do is fall on his face. His nose connects with the floor, hard. He feels it break. Two hands pull him backwards by the arms, cuffed behind him. The person with the pillowcase draws it over his head. He sits up, screaming at the silhouettes because it is not dark, not with the light shining in. He feels something cold and hard against his head and thinks he should pray, but the only word that comes to him is 'Rob', and he latches onto it with all the sanity he has left. A click. The barrel of the gun drawn back. A sound he recognizes from childhood, playing cowboys and Indians with his brothers. Get shot. Clutch, twist. Twirl dramatically. Collapse and die. Get up. Do over. No do overs this time. Bang. 

He falls forward. He hears shouting, running, the pillowcase pulled off. Light. Rough hands, gentle on him, pulling him up. He looks at Jensen, holding him. He sits sideways across Jensen’s outstretched legs, his own sprawled out across the concrete floor. Their height difference is ridiculous like this, but Jared clings on, doesn’t care. Jensen is crying, rocking him. He must be dead, he thinks, for Jensen to be crying. He tries to turn to look at Pellegrino. Jensen stops him. 

"Look at me, kid. Just look at me." He keeps his eyes on Jensen, couldn’t turn if he’d wanted because of Jensen’s two hands on his cheeks, holding him in place. "You’re fine. Everything’s fine." 

He forces himself away from Jensen’s grip and turns, expecting to see Pellegrino’s brains splattered on the walls. The man who put the pillowcase over Jared's head is sitting, looking dazed. A doctor is next to him, patching up a wound in his arm. Behind him, Mark lies on the floor. It takes Jared a moment to register that he isn't moving. "He's dead?"

"Yeah," Jensen says. He's trying to turn Jared away from the sight, and from the men clothed head to toe in white who are trooping in. Jared fights him off, arms only, he's still in Jensen's lap, still rocked against his chest. "You never killed anyone," he says in wonder.

"Well, I have now." Jensen is gruff, belying the gentleness with which he holds Jared. 

"He killed me," Jared says. 

"Tried to. He failed." 

Jared isn’t sure. 

"Going to get you checked out, all right?"

Jared nods. Jensen waves someone over and soon he's getting checked over by a woman in latex gloves, being told to put his head back and poked on his nose. No one says anything about Jensen having him on his lap, and he doesn't know if it's because they know who he is or if Jensen is glaring them all into silence. 

"You'll have to come to the hospital," the medic says.

"I want to go home."

"I'll take him," Jensen says.

"Home?"

"Hospital."

Jared makes a whining sound and Jensen thumps him on the back. "Don't push it," he says. Jared smiles. He knows. The tenderness goes only so far. He whines again, because he's safe and he doesn't care how much Jensen thumps him because Jensen just killed a man for him. Someone helps him up and Jensen stretches, groaning to his feet and complaining about sleeping limbs. Jared stands, wavering, until Jensen takes his arm and nudges him out of the building towards his car, as ugly as ever, and the most beautiful thing Jared has seen in his entire life. 

Jensen loads him into the car. Jared is happy to see it, too. He stretches his legs out beneath the consol. 

"How long has it been since I was gone?"

"Not quite forty-eight hours. We've been looking for you for forty-five of those."

"Forty-five? You're losing your touch."

"Ha."

"Rob and I are together now. I put the ring on."

"He told me."

"Is he all right?"

"He will be when he sees you."

Jared blinks at the building that Jensen has stopped in front of. "I told you I wanted to go home."

"Hospital first. Quit acting surprised about it." He shuts the engine off. Jared sits, arms crossed and sulking as if this will make Jensen change his mind, but Jensen just gets out of the car, walks around the front of it, opens the passenger door and yanks Jared out by his elbow.

"I could be really hurt, you know."

"Then we're at the right place. Move it, princess."

Jared stumbles towards the glass doors. Jensen hooks an arm under his shoulders and guides him to the door leading into the restricted area. With his badge in hand, he commandeers a wheelchair from a nurse and plops Jared into it.

"I don't need a wheelchair." Jensen's heavy hand on his shoulder applies just enough pressure to keep him seated.

"I can't believe I started missing your bitching. Now shut up, would you?" He pushes chair into the elevator.

"Shouldn't we check in at that desk you marched us past?"

"Been here enough times to know where to go. Taking you to Seven."

"What's on Seven?"

Jensen harrumphs at him, and Jared falls quiet. The door opens on chaos. A man in a hospital gown stands front and center, cursing a nurse. Nearby, a woman sits on the floor, gently rocking and tugging her hair.

"You brought me to the mental ward?"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist. Just taking a detour."

"A detour to what?"

But Jensen is in motion, propelling Jared forward, weaving around the people making the obstacle, and pushing through the door on the other side. He parks Jared in front of a desk.

"Got someone for you. Needs checked."

The nurse doesn't look up. "Take him downstairs to admitting."

"Told you," Jared says.

Jensen slams his hand down on the lip of the desk. She jumps. When he removes it, his badge is lying there. "He's just come out of a hostage situation. He needs care from this department, now. You think I've been wandering the floors looking to see who wasn't busy and just happened on you?"

Jared tries to apologize with his eyes when she finally stands a little to look over the desk at him. "Go sit over there." She waves towards a couple of empty seats a few feet away. "I'll see if our visiting doctor can help you." 

Jensen nods once, sharply, and wheels Jared to the wall. Jared starts to get up, but again the hand on his shoulder slams him down. Jensen drops into a chair, grabs a stack of magazines, flips through them, and shoves the _Cosmopolitan_ at Jared, keeping _Men's Journal_ for himself.

"I don't read _Cosmo_ ," Jared says.

"You're gay, aren't you?"

"Maybe I'd like to read your magazine."

Jensen looks at it, and back at Jared and to the magazine again. Jared tries not to look smug as Jensen's detective brain makes the connection between the hard-bodied shirtless man on the cover and a reason Jared might want to read it.

"Read your damn magazine and be quiet," Jensen says after a minute of this. 

Jared slouches and yanks it open to an article on "Telling Your Man What You Really Want". A glance over Jensen's shoulder shows him reading up on a marathon runner with one leg. The runner is hot. Jensen catches Jared looking and flips the page.

"Can I at least call Rob?"

Jensen hands him his phone.

"No cell phones," the nurse says.

Jared hands the phone back.

"I think we're going to adopt, you know."

"Are you really?"

"I'm ready. And Rob's wanted a kid for so long. I haven't talked to him about it yet. I just decided yesterday. I decided that if I lived, if I could get through that, then I could handle fatherhood."

"I'm in no position to tell you that what you just went through was the easy part."

"No, you aren't."

"You'll name him after me, won't you?"

"My conquering hero? Absolutely."

"Good."

"Jensen."

"Yeah?"

"You killed someone for me."

"Don't let it haunt you, Jared. It's over. Let it go."

"I don't know if I can."

"Time, buddy. It takes everything away after awhile."

"Did anyone tell Rob I’m O.K.?"

Jensen flips it on, dials, and puts it to his ear, all the while staring at the nurse, who stares right back.

"Rob, got him fine. Having him checked out at the hospital. I'll have him home to you tonight, all goes well." Jensen pauses and glances at Jared. "No. He's still annoying." 

The nurse picks up her own phone. Jared cannot hear her, but he is certain she is asking for security. He nudges Jensen.

"Gotta go. Violating some kind of rule, apparently. I'll call if anything changes." Jensen hangs up and shoves the phone into his pocket.

"Happy?"

The nurse glares. "An exam room has just opened. Follow me, please."

"Is it all right for you to leave the desk?" Jared says.

"We're short staffed tonight."

"Oh."

He and Jensen follow the nurse down the hallway. She gestures them into an empty examination room and closes the door on them. Jared flinches.

"Are you all right?"

"Would you mind opening the door?"

Jensen nods and opens it. He helps Jared climb onto the examination table, ignoring Jared's attempts to push him away. "I'm fine, Jensen."

"Just sit there and be quiet, then." Jensen pulls the doctor's chair around for himself, and plops down between Jared and the door like a guard dog. 

"I'm hungry."

"You can't stop complaining for one second, can you?"

"You don't have any food?"

"Do I look like a vending machine to you?"

"I saw one down the hall. Go get me a candy bar."

"No."

"Please."

"Fine. But you stay right here, got it?"

"Yes."

As soon as Jensen is out of sight, Jared wants to call him back. Instead, he stares at the wall and sits on his hands to stop them from shaking. There is a framed still life on the wall of an apple on a table. A decorator's joke, perhaps, a play on the saying 'an apple a day keeps the doctor away'. 

"I've always liked that picture." The doctor is in the doorway. Jared turns.

"Dr. Maclean. You work here?"

"Once a month. May I come in?"

"You're the doctor."

"So I am." Maclean takes two steps into the room and looks at the chart he is holding. Jared watches him.

"First your brother, now you. I hope you boys aren't going to make a habit of this."

"Jensen saved me," Jared says.

Maclean nods. "Good. Now, let's see if any damage was done. Would you take your shirt off, please?"

Jared starts to pull it over his head. It gets stuck. Maclean reaches in to help, and Jared freezes when he feels the other man's hand on his elbow. 

"Just breathe, that's all right," Maclean says.

Jared forces air into his lungs. He cannot see. His heart pounds in his ears. He struggles. Maclean's grip is strong, tugging, but every move Jared makes only traps him more thoroughly. He hears footsteps. He'll be shot. 

Suddenly Maclean is gone and he's free. Jensen stands over him with Jared's shirt in hand. Jared slumps forward against Jensen's shoulder. Jensen strokes his hair. Jared looks over from his safe place to see Maclean looking away.

"I'm sorry," Maclean says. "I was only trying to help."

Jared sits up again. Jensen moves away and stands against the wall, arms crossed. "I'm sorry I freaked out," Jared says.

"He shouldn't have been touching you," Jensen says.

"I am sorry."

"You don't touch him again without me here, got it?"

"Yes. Detective. It's a wonder you get any work done with accompanying your brothers to hospitals and threatening their doctors all the time."

"What are you talking about?" Jared says.

"Your brother here stood over me the entire time I was examining your other brother. He was breathing down my neck."

"He saved me."

"So you said."

"You should check him out, too. There were shots fired. He could have been hit."

"I wasn't."

"I'll be happy to look at him if he promises not to punch me."

"I won't."

"Jensen, come on. You made me come here."

"Fine."

"On the table, next to your brother. Shirt off."

Jensen unbuttons his shirt and steps backwards onto the table. Maclean moves towards him cautiously. He pushes the shirt flaps back and listens to Jensen's heart with his stethoscope.

"Well?" Jensen says.

"You're fine."

"See?"

"There's nothing wrong with you that losing twenty pounds wouldn't fix."

"This what you call bedside manner, Doc?" Jensen forms a fist. 

"Jensen, you promised not to hit him," Jared says.

"I know." Jensen releases his fist. 

Maclean sidesteps to Jared. His eyes are smiling, though his mouth is stern.

#

Jared goes into his building on his own, telling himself that he can do it, that Jensen is watching and Rob is waiting and there will be no chance that anyone will hurt him in the interim. Stan the elevator operator is on duty. Jared nods at him, an innocuous familiar face. He wonders if Stan has been told.

"Hi Mr. Padalecki. How are you?"

"I'm good, Stan." He faces forward and watches the numbers go up as the elevator rises.

He knocks lightly on his apartment door. Rob opens it immediately. Jared falls into his arms. Rob reaches over him to slam the door. 

"Thank God," he says.

"I've promised Jensen we'll name the first baby after him."

"I think we can handle that."

"He'll probably want the others named after him, too."

"Others? Are you serious?"

"I am."

Rob hugs him. "You don't have to."

"I'm ready to be a family. With you."

Rob is beaming, tears punctuating his eyelashes. He steps back. "Do you want a coffee or wine or…" Rob trails off. Jared hugs himself. 

"No. I’m fine. I’d like to write. Deadline. Have to get it out while it's fresh." 

"Yeah." Rob heads into the other room. "Well. I'll give you some privacy." 

"Rob?" 

"Yeah?" Rob comes back to him. 

"Could you sit in here? Where I can see you? I can’t…I can’t… I need to be able to see you." 

"Yeah. I’m right here. O.K.?" Rob squeezes his hand. 

"Yeah." Jared sits down at the couch and Rob sits in the reading chair in front of him, so every time Jared looks up he sees him there, quietly reading. Jared picks up his pen and begins to write.

** Epilogue **

Six Months Later

As they stand on Sebastian's doorstep, Jared adjusts his bowtie. Rob pulls his hand away. 

"Stop fussing. It's fine."

"It feels crooked."

"It's not."

"I can't believe we're actually at one of Sebastian's parties."

"Believe it."

A young woman dressed as an elf opens the door. She waves them in with a large smile. Immediately, a man in a similar costume offers them sherry from a tray. They each take one. All around, the male guests are in tuxedoes and the women in various shades of white. There are a few gender-swapping exceptions, too. Christmas music plays on a sound system, just below the murmur of voices. Jared and Rob weave their way into the center of the room, passing three hundred people, at a guess. 

"Do you see our host?" Rob asks.

"Not yet..."

Then Sebastian appears, beaming, beside him. He has his arm linked through Jensen’s elbow. Jared stifles his surprise. 

"Jensen? You came?"

"He begged," Jensen says, as he extracts himself. 

"Your brother was unable to resist the charm of an older man," Sebastian says, putting his arm right back where it was. "In the Christmas spirit, he is indulging me."

"And I figured it was a good way to see the house Misha built."

"I would happily arrange a private viewing," Sebastian says. Jensen ignores him.

"It is beautiful," Rob says.

Sebastian nods. "Darling, it is perfect. Some people would find fault. They would nitpick until something arose to distract them from its wonder. I am not one of those people."

An elf bearing a tray of vegetables wandered through. Jensen grabs a carrot.

"Jensen, you're about to put a natural food into your mouth," Jared says.

Jensen crunches dolefully. "It's not always grease and bread with me."

"Since when?"

"Since I figured out what a helpless bore you are. If I'll have to be rescuing you all the time, I should take better care of myself so I'm around for it."

"I'm not sure how to take that, but I'm glad anyway."

"You'd better be."

"He’s not the only one who wants you around a long time," Sebastian says. 

"Sebastian, you're pushing it."

"Of course, dear. My apologies."

Jensen smiles. "Don't worry about it."

"Jared, do I hear correctly that you've been shortlisted for a Pulitzer Prize?"

"That is how the rumors go."

"It was a fascinating article. I had expected an exposè, and instead you offered quite a moving portrait of your family, especially this one here," he squeezed Jensen's elbow. "Yes, a hero to us all. And a commendation to you, my dear? Am I right?"

"Yes."

"Well done to both of you."

"Thank you. Do you know if Misha is here?"

"He and Rachel are circumnavigating. I'm sure if you stay in one spot, they'll find you soon enough. However, speaking of which, I need to move off before my other guests get jealous. Speak to you later, darlings. Shall I leave you with your brother?"

"I think so," Jensen says. Sebastian pecks him on the cheek. Jensen wipes it off with the back of his hand. 

"So, you and Sebastian..." Jared says.

"Don't get any ideas."

"Well, I'm not but I think he might be."

"It's just a bit of fun."

"I think you're enjoying the attention," Rob says.

Jensen shrugs. "I feel pretty, and witty, and..." he cuts himself off with a swig of beer.

Jared rolls his eyes. 

"You should come for breakfast tomorrow," Rob says.

"If you think I'm going to be up in time for breakfast..."

"Brunch, then."

"Bring Sebastian. You could have an engagement to announce by then."

"I'm talking to Cindy again."

"Talking, talking?"

"Made it twenty minutes before she hung up on me."

"Progress in the truest sense. Getting back together?"

Jensen shrugs. "Hard to say."

"It's been more than ten years, hasn't it?"

"Long enough to know if you're going to get over it."

"Is she?"

"I think she'd be a fool to. But I'm not the same man anymore."

"No. That man certainly wouldn't have taken Sebastian's invitation so kindly."

"I suppose not. Well. People change. Never thought I'd be one of them, but there you go."

Rob put his arm around Jared's shoulders, as if he were expressing the same.

Jensen finished his beer and handed the glass to a passing elf. "Jared, I want you to know, I love you. Both of you. I'm glad you're all right.

Jared smiles. "You're my hero, Jensen."

Jensen snorts. "Yeah, I know. I saw the article."

The End


End file.
